An imminent horizon of cliffs obstructs the view. In a strange vicinity, anxiety searches for comfort. Rolling and tumbling in confusion, Anxiety is stopped by the Promise. “Let’s go home”, she said. “That’s what she said”, Anxiety replied.
For the longest time, the conversation carried on with jest in the air and trust slowly building up. At the culmination of the talk, anxiety sees comfort within the Promise. Humiliation pushes Anxiety into the ever open arms of the Promise. “This is just the beginning, it’s going to be a long ride home. But I’ll take care of you”, the Promise assured. “That’s what she said”, replied Anxiety for the seventeenth time; clearly enjoying this.
Slowly the promise pulled away from the cliffs. Started on a long winding road with dark uncertainty beneath her and bright assurance above her, which she looked up to. Anxiety boiled up inside of her. She felt like a rattlesnake that just ate it’s rattle. Still she kept calm.
Soon the promise began losing strength. Her will – ever strong a d fixed, her strength exponentially waned. She coughed and spat, jerked sometimes – rocking Anxiety within. Her voice became croaky; snot came out of every breadth. Every step forward was preferred by a backward tug. “I must keep my promise” is the thought that furled her journey. Oblivious to her condition, Anxiety thought in his mind, “that’s what she said”.
Yet the Promise runs, runs and is still running. Anxiety sits, sits and is still sitting.
I am anxious. And this must be the shittiest Greyhound bus ride home.