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Intersection

I get to the last intersection right before my house,
But it is the most difficult place to cross at.
I am blocked by a parade of crowded cars back and forth,
Some fast and make me nervous for my state of living,
Some slow and make the anxiety and the waiting unbelievable.
There is no other way to get home except to cross that street.
I always regret not crossin sooner because I feel safer on the original side.
But the intersection is more risky and dangerous than anything else.
Sometimes I think that maybe I'm afraid to change.
If I went a different way, would I be abducted and never get home?
Would there be a shootout or an accident that would harm me?
Or what if that intersection is the only way to cross?
Every day, I end up waiting there, hoping for no reason to fear.
I wait for five minutes but it truly feels like five hours.
From a ninety-degree angle, the sun disappears into the dark.
From feeling relaxed in shorts, I need a coat to keep me warm.
From kids meeting up after school, adults from work go home from the train station.
But when I lose hope most, a clearing opens up.
I make it across and I'm finally home.
The next day, the process starts once again.
And I have to go through anxiety, fear, concern, and madness once more.
But I always remember how this ordeal ends.
And at that point, patience is all that matters.





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