I am waiting. I am upset. My mailbox is still empty. This time last year I had already been rejected. Where is my letter? It is two weeks late now. I am trying to be patient but this is my future. Thirty miles south people are deciding my future. I am waiting. Anxiety is creeping along my skin. One year I have been working. They rejected me but not quite. Come again they say. Get better try again. So I go the campus by the bay. I take one class, then two, then three. I pay with money I don’t have. I am poor. I cannot have a regular job because of the classes you see. The times change. I have to read a lot. I write a lot. These thirty miles take an hour plus to travel each way. It is hard. I struggle I am poor. I am giving everything I have to this mythical future that doesn’t exist, that might exist or might not or may never come. I am waiting. Three weeks late now. I make a date the 28th. I will inquire after then. Nothing is going right. Pushing it won’t make it come faster. I wait. I am not patient but I wait.
Where is my future?