Perspective

I wait for you. The little hands on that clock have been rolling on and on for hours and it seems endless.  Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever show yourself, and usually you don't. Often your presence graces me in morning air, but all too often you are late, you wait until dusk to arrive. Oh, but I never do complain. In all honesty, I'm just relieved that you decided to show yourself at all.

Your name is perspective and you have a funny sense of humor. We get on well at times, but you're existence is so unstable, making our relationship...well...somewhat of a challenge. I don't care too much for you when you're gone.  In fact, I despise you. Why don't you pick up on these simple hints, the looks we exchange when you stumble through that door, giving me that sly smile, in hopes that I will look over your inconsiderate behavior? Do you know how long I've waited here? Why could you not appear sooner? Are you so busy with the cares of others, melting their stress away and sprinkling inspiration on their days?

I feel the emptiness closing in, that sense of purpose wandering, slipping through the grip of my fingertips. I'd hold on to you, but it all seems so...so helpless.

I laugh, ever so slightly. Is that you, perspective? I know it isn't you, for you've made yourself a stranger. I've lost count of all the seconds that I've spent waiting for you. I know that you've been gone, all the day, someplace else, everywhere else, except here. Something drops, a weight from inside me. No, surely it wasn't you. It was my choice to do something about it, not yours. Those hours I spent waiting for you to arrive, it was my choice to leave, to end the dripping complaints, to get on with my life.

I feel the cool night air, whispering through the window and pull my sweater closer to me. I seem to notice every little pleasure this night has to offer, the frustrations of the day seem a little less important than they did earlier. I come up the stairs, walking that creaky and familiar route. The world is so still up here. Crickets have performed that very tune night after night, all summer long and I think they have finally perfected it.

Perspective? Do you arrive when you choose, or was it my actions that brought you here? I've always put it on you, all that responsibility, when in reality you are just a word. You are just a word that I can use to describe what I am doing, what I've been waiting for...this sense of trust, purpose. This peace in knowing that it will all be okay. This peek inside the studio where the Artist paints the big picture.

I think I feel it sinking in. I know I've said this before, but something's different this time. Something's changed. Don't look at me like that, as if I'm the one walking in so late. Haven't I been waiting for you all this time? Or perhaps it was me who kept you waiting. Yes, I remember. We've talked this over before, haven't we? You aren't someone I know, you're something I do. You're that choice, that discipline of thoughts and actions. Our relationship is unstable, yes, but only because I treat you as if you were some sort of inspiration, dropping in unexpectedly.

Forgive me for treating you as if you were pixie dust, a handful of magic. You are a choice. Realistic. Logical. You are there, always, unless I push you into the shadows. So come on out of there. No, you don't need to inch out slowly, I won't bite. Ah, there you are. Now I can see you, almost entirely. It's good to have you here, keeping my mind and heart awake. Ha, I was about to request that you prolong your visit, but I suppose I should be telling myself to guarantee the hospitality.