Sitting in the sun outside a coffee shop, I get this overwhelming feeling of… anger

No.

Resentment.

Resentment of where I am. Living in the present isn’t any fun compared to living in your own romanticized past.

I can’t go back. The only things left in the past is what I wish to forget, I took all of the good stuff with me. I have to keep walking, but my feet hurt, my eyes are watering, and the wind keeps whipping.

I’m in the middle of a long drive, and the only things around me are corn fields, and the houses of the farmers who gave up where I was at and began cornfields. That and a perma-blue sky.

I’m at work. Working at my life not for what is now, but for what it will become from this time. I’ve clocked in and now I’m waiting out the clock.

In fact I’m now where. I’m outside of a coffee shop. Now resumed from the escapism of romanticing my own discomfort.

I am nowhere. I simply am. And will be for a while.