instead of waiting

i'm listening to Brahms and trying not to know what i'm going to do. i'm trying to pause. i'm trying to breathe. i'm trying to have faith that the solution will present itself. i'm trying to avoid the subtle seduction of certainty - or maybe i'm lying to myself.

maybe i already know what i will do. maybe the die is already cast. maybe these months meant nothing. maybe the months before meant even less. maybe i'm writing just to hear the clack clack click tap of the keys so i don't pay attention to the tocks.

maybe i'm trying to remember the smell of clocks.