Moving Alone

Things feel so impossible right now. I have just as many opportunities and options as I do elephantine, taxing obstacles. I feel alone in this new journey. Once I move to Long Island I can’t come back… not for quite a while anyways. I wish Mother could understand that moral support doesn’t help me at all. I’m not the child that she has ever had to worry about hurting the ego. I feel as if I must pour myself into my manual labor and then into my studies and into anything that is asked of me. All I can see right now is seriousness and hard work and exhaustive toiling. This would be easier and more welcome if I were simply being asked to only bother myself with excelling academically… but now I am being demanded to make ends meet by myself.
Because the people around me have lives that are falling apart. They can’t meet their end. They can’t make their end. They can’t. I can’t. I can’t help them right now. That is becoming an obvious message. The only way that they will prevail will be at the end of my journey. My success is their success, yet their failure is my failure and success is a foreign celebration to them. I will continue on my private path. Without guilt. I cannot own a guilt if I cannot own failure. And I cannot own their failures.
Supporting myself is moving within a cadenza so that one day they don’t have to improvise. I gaze. I don’t speak. I cannot burden them with my fears. My fears are their sorrow and their remorse and their failures. A tear, like my spirit, swells, but it doesn’t fall.