Expired Deadlines
And I guess as I'm sitting at my desk writing, and somewhere a career spark for something I should of never gotten into. Deadlines to make and achieve while in the process missing too many. And on the other side, cubicles I look over to see distress as deadlines have gotten to the best of her dearest. And for what looks like 15 minutes I make contact with her, but I can't remember if she ever noticed. But you can see how the look turns her face, it's like watching a flower slowly wilt but only in fast forward.
For once, after too long of a time, I put the pen down because I don't believe in computers to print and type writers are just too old. Sliding back my chair, it rolls seamlessly away from my desk as if, it has a solid direct path like we have in life. Still staring, as if concentrating waiting for something to happen, even though everything happened all at once, too quick. A predestined path, I see made up of deadlines or adjustments in the clock, time that we all share together but at the same time we are alone in the journey.
Swelling up as her eyes are getting heavy and red now as she's gathering her stuff. Almost as if I wrote for the obituaries instead I could write his even though I know nothing, not even his name. You can see the story of the life of him of her all over her face. You can see from the first day they met. It was if fireworks were going off, now just pain stricken and lack of hope as if this day was supposed to come, just didn't know when.
She's leaving now as her stuff is all gathered in a tangled mess. Her arm is in one coat sleeve while papers and her lunch is tucked under her other. It's as if in a crisis like this your lunch is the most important thing you need to take with you. But shit you can't get on her case for the case that she's experiencing now. But upon her leave, she walks out with her head held not low but high, as if her predetermined fate and destiny is already determined and she knows. I've never in my life seen so much poise and strength in a reaction that was unfolding before my eyes.
The shame of it is I will probably never see it again just like she will never see him again.
Now, about twelve minutes after everything I regain consciousness because all this felt like a dream. Realizing my deadline, is ticking away, I roll my chair back picking up my pen continuing what I try to think is best. And after it all, today I beat my deadline just hope the editor approves. But deep down you know, there's one deadline you'll never make.
