#accomplishment — Public Fediverse posts

Reaching

When I write
I find myself reaching—

reaching
reaching
reaching
reaching

for something.

Satisfaction.
Accomplishment.
Arrival.

There is none now.

Only words.
More words.
Another page.

Perhaps
I still have far to climb.

Perhaps
I have mistaken a hill
for a mountain.

Perhaps
the pinnacle
was never there.

Perhaps there is no
there.

Only this:

the reaching,
the climbing,
the wanting
to arrive.

And still
nothing.

No summit.
No flag.
No voice saying—

enough.

Perhaps
I am not finished.

Perhaps
I never will be.

Or perhaps

this is only doubt and hope —

standing at the bottom
of something,

looking up.

(Journal entry April 8, 1986, age 19, expanded 40 years later)