Some time ago, I wrote a piece.
Some time after that, I went back to the piece to elaborated. I asked a good friend of mine for an opinion and she said:
“It’s really nice, but what’s it about? Who is this written to?”
No one, really. It was just a cluster of thought? It made sense in my mind’s eye, it didn’t really matter if I had gone through those fictional experiences. The emotion conveyed within and out, had been real to me, almost raw. Today, that piece took a certain turn and means something different to me. It was like a foreseeing the future! It was bound to happen.
So, he carries around all this weight, crap-filled luggage and expects me to not be upset once I open it up. Strange how irrelevant it always is but life has a funny way of tying things together with a nice, big bow. I can’t wait for you. I’m sorry, I just can’t.
So, this morning, after some arguments and sniffles, I called my bestfriend to the rescue.
“I’m not heartbroken. I’m just upset, mad... furious! He’s just so stupid! He doesn’t want my help and that’s like a slap to the face.”
“It’s okay, you’ll be fine.”
“I know I’ll be fine. It just makes me sad.”
“What’s life without saddness?”
“What’s my saddness without life?”
Above it all, I can’t help but laugh at my first post here on Blogger, and laugh at that little reminder of the time next to its automatic commands of saving something so useless.
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