The words we implore can sometimes persuade things to go accordingly. Then there are moments where words maim and cut deep into what meaning of existence we have left. The thinner the yarn holding up your reality, the sharper and more true your words become. My yarn is thin. Anorexic, even. And when you congregate contentment with the futility in arguing against god, or the universe, or the chi, or what have you, the yarn will still hold.
It is an argument against an opponent of whom uncertainty is key in their manifest. The roll of the filthy dice, can land at evens or odds. This only insinuates a displaced hope that keeps your yarn holding. It is when hope is taken away that the tie is severed. Hope is reality, that is why we push. We push and push and push until our insides are out like the trash, our hearts on our sleeves. Care. To care is to love and back, making care a proprietor of hope. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. Nothing but hope, if it’s warranted. But how do we discern what is warranted? What do you care about in life that keeps you pushing? Your children? Your families? Your wives and husbands? Your friends? If you have none of these, you’ are permitted to go all in, nothing but to gain. But if you do have these, I have something to say; “Never will you feel the kind of loneliness you feel when everything you care about hasn’t an ounce of hope to spare you.”
You’ve tasted it before. When you’ve mustered enough courage to ask for something you need, and their first response wasn’t a yes or a no, but a hesitation. It tastes rancid to the point where it feels like the twisting of a blade after it has stabbed you. If you ever want to know who your friend’s were, ask them for a favor even you would deny. Watch the dissipation into thin air, the faith you thought they had in your being.
It’s Thanksgiving. Caustically fitting to my manifest. I do not write this in a bitter tone, I do not write this to maim. I write this because you realize somewhere down the line that you’ve no need to escape from who you are anymore. I have come from zero to a man who had the world in his hands and back. I have lost more than what I had initially begun with. I have loved something eternally, and lost something forever. I have believed and denounced everything behind the sun. And now I’ve lost not only myself, but my mind has begun packing. I had asked for the belief in me from those I loved and discovered my worth. And though I’ve blinked through highs and lows, then result will always be, for everyone, that we will have not ascertained anything on our deathbed. The last dying gasp you give, will not be a bad one, nor a good one. The last dying gasp you give is and will always be the punchline to an unmemorable joke.
There were only four things that were ever worth anything to me. But like all things, I could not take them with me; the sound of the piano keys, the laughter of a child who hadn’t yet understood the wretched ways of the world, the tears of someone whom never wanted to see yours, and the sound of water being poured.
Again, I do not write this bitterly or to hurt anyone. I no longer have the strength to care if I did. I spent the last few months finalizing my paperwork for my terrestrial visa, and learned to appreciate life more than I had my entire life. The flowers really do smell beautiful. I wasn’t bright enough to plant my own, but it’s too late. Some people in their 60’s realized too late they hadn’t danced enough while they were young. I realized I was a cat at the end of my ninth life. Maybe that’s why they had so many. I spent too much time trying to convince myself I was everyone’s best friend, a dog, because I had never liked cats. They seemed cold and soulless inside. I didn’t like the idea of being cold on the inside and faking warmth on the outside, because it wouldn’t matter at all whether you had nine lives or ninety-nine.
If you continue to be cold on the inside with those you love, you’ll end up not giving a damn about it at all. What’s your point, then?