Nothing Left to Want

I don’t have a destination to reach,
so every road is only distance.

I don’t have a person to reach out to,
so every name feels borrowed.

I don’t have a competitor to compete with,
because there is nothing I care enough to win.

I don’t have somewhere I want to be.
I don’t have someone I want to become.
I don’t have anything waiting
that makes me want to move faster.

There is no call I wait for.
No knock I recognize.
No arrival that would make me stand up.

I don’t save anything for special days.
There are no special days.

I don’t have a song I need to hear again,
a place I need to see,
or words I still need to say.

Everything I once wanted
has slowly stopped
meaning anything to me.

That is the worst part.

Not losing things.

Watching them become
completely weightless.

Nothing is particularly wrong.

Nothing is particularly right.

The room is still a room.
The door still opens.
The phone still rings sometimes.

I just don’t expect
anything from any of it.

I don’t have a destination to reach.
I don’t have a person to reach out to.
I don’t have a competitor to compete with.

I don’t have a reason to hurry.

I don’t have a reason to stay.

There is no one at the end of the road.

There is no end of the road.

There is only distance.