Poetry: Starting Line

I sympathize with the starting line.

The race about to start
The trembling of fingers caressing its paint
The tensed muscles in the leg
Ready to spring forward

And then they do
The line is left behind
Wondering
Who will I start next?

That is me.
I am that line.

I start the process
But I get left behind
Quickly
Not forgotten, no
But not the end goal
Not the desire
Of their hearts

Like a catalyst
I am useful
But I am not a product
And I won't be there when
When products are formed

I'll be your first
But I won't be your last
But I won't still the noise in your heart
But I won't become what you need
What you settle for
What you dream of

I never am.

First kiss?
Okay
First love?
Okay
First friend?
Okay
First sibling?
Okay
First person to experience something with you?
Okay

First this
First that

But

Not the last.

You're not my first
I'm too busy being everyone's first
To have my own

But I'm your first.

Doesn't that make make me special?
I'll be a treasured memory
As you look back upon your journey
Your voyage of life

A little boost
A little assistance
In the right direction
The old man on the side of the road
The kindly grandmother
Who had the right words to say

Pray tell,
Is that worth remembering?

I like to think of the starting line as needed
Where it all began
Before which
Nothing happened

There was stillness
There was quiet
Nervous apprehension
Waiting

The boundary was crossed
This simple line
A boundary in mind alone

Crossing frees you
Giddy?
You spring forward
Crossing helped you see the end goal
You always wanted it
But now your vision's clear

Faster, faster
Running?
No, running is too slow
Perhaps sprinting?
Unbounded by time or distance
Charging

It's not that you can't wait
To be rid of me
It's that you can't wait
To be at the end line

Who looks just like me.