Stagnant

She curled up on the road she decided to travel a long time ago. Despite the miles of distance she had walked, her pace is getting shorter, slower. Her feet are becoming weaker. She can now see where the path leads her to. Crystal clear. Unlike before when the future was hidden by a thick fog. Yet it seems so far to her eyes. Something is holding her back. She once used to think that the path she has chosen was right, the less traveled path. She used to believe in herself that she could go through the obstacles. Yes, she has gone through that. This journey has torn her clothes, fouled her, bleed her, broken her leg, until the scars made her appear like she has no more fears on everything. But now, she is fatigued, too tired to move on. Everyone has gone, too far for her to catch. But she is stationary, as if she is standing still on a busy road, gazing aimlessly forward, while people are busy walking yet all she could do is staring in blank. She is afraid to walk this path alone. She is waiting for a hand, that at least would pat on her back. Or a strong hand that would push her from behind, so she could move again. Or someone that would hold her hand and lead her steps till the end. Or perhaps just a little voice that would whisper, 'get up dear! you have to move on!' Just that. Only that.