Things I Will Keep

Getting older. The older I get, the further away I get from the person I think I am. What Happened To All The Time? There is a Christmas tree; a small one, and fake. It whirls in a quiet little circle. My cat loves it. Blank whiteboards, with reminders of impending bills. B.I.L.L.S. Hard-earned money for intangible, untouchable services. Lasers and waves beaming through space, a million miles an hour, screaming "lol" and "no, not tonight." Deflections, rejections. A rotary telephone sits atop a dusty speaker. The bass makes crumpled receipts dance and seem lifelike, the way they were when they were young. Pieces of art of loved ones, hidden behind empty ceramics. Awards for "a job well done." It's crystal, and clear, and hollow, and that says everything. Closet doors ajar just so, begging to be closed. The memories inside peek out, and reveal truths. Little tchotchkes I got to commemorate favorite pass-times. They are dull; they've been neglected. Why don't I like these things anymore? How can pieces of plastic and pewter and paper hurt like this?

A listless plant. Each third leaf is brown and cracked, thirsty. It's a beautiful, powerful pattern. Seeing patterns more these days. One lace crossed over another, the way a cigarette butt rolls to a gutter, the tree turning and turning and turning. Walking outside at night, with a breeze so cold the coat wraps tighter without a pull. It's all around us! And then, the street lamp goes dark. Stars burst into view and endless possibility is laid out before me, and I'm paralyzed. Breathes come soft but deep, and the vast potential of me and you and everyone else is so real I can taste it--metallic, delicate, electric. Alive alive alive. Reaching out to experience.

There is a meaning, a point to everything.

The bigness is gone now. Paths narrow and the movingbreathingthinkingbeing is easier; less fog. A grand-scale adventure. A world of untold, unimaginable things.

I hit shuffle, and pointedly wrap the coat around my body. Have to find a new way back home.

Until an asteroid,
Adam