It’s like déjà-done this kind of thing—walked this path before, spouted this script before, destined to repeat over again
attachments and letting go,
hoping and hurting,
again and again,
pushing my rock to the crest only for it to slide back.
Is this punishment for choices made or just the way of things in this place?
Perhaps it’s just part of the deal, so we keep going,
trying to find our way out.
. . . and waiting for spring.