Ah, persevere.

My fickle lover, taunting me one day, drawing my ire, then supporting me, willing me on.

I have trouble quitting things.  It's my one weakness.  

I don't like quitting.  I don't quit.  I suspend work, put it on hold, promise to finish it later, but I don't quit. 

I've written about this before, how I admire the people who can cut their losses or make a tough decision and walk away.  I think they're braver and stronger than I am. 

I persevere.  I grit my teeth, set my jaw, narrow my focus and push on, and on, and on. Pain and dejection are stimulants.

Sometime I feel weary for it.  I feel perseverance's weight rounding my shoulders, injecting tension into my frame.  I bow, trying not to break.  

How long can I go?

But sometimes, at last, perseverance forces a break through.  Sunshine bursts out, blinding me with joy.  It's an addiction, to persevere and succeed.  

I can't give it up.  I need it, like my mocha.

I remember days like that and decide, no, I won't give up.  I won't quit.

I will persevere.