How many years you think we still have to live, I wanted to ask you just now. But this isn’t the sort of thing you ask someone at three in the morning, while you both are quite a distance away; it isn’t something I can Viber or call in long distance – it’s a conversation that oughta happen while we’re hunched around some dimly-lit table, and only when my cheeks are redder from alcohol, perhaps with our ensemble, who at first will shush me and say oh c’mon darling why’d you even think that, and even when everyone protests, I know I feel I’m sure I can push the question again, perhaps with a plea, and in just a little while they’ll respond.
Often I can’t help it, asking these questions – the ones that scare us, harden us, make us build shells around our hearts, train us to lift the drawbridge and defend our towers of belief. I dunno if it’s coz the #thisis40 school bus will be coming by to pick me up soon or, perhaps because 2015’s second new year just rolled by with all its gold coins and plump mandarin oranges or, maybe…it’s just the way I am. I ask and ask and ask and never quite get to the why. Well maybe eventually but, hell, not for a long while.
And there’ll be days like this, when it gets too tiresome. I am so spent looking for answers, at protesting and fighting and defending my post. I gave hundertzehn and only have scar tissue to show for? Goodness me, and there I was hoping for maybe just a sunnier demeanor and an extra hour. I gave hundertzehn and boohoo so what Imma go about my way, said he.
What I do recognize now is this: there really is no meant to be, at least not for me. No fairy dust, other than those I stir on my own. And there are darker days when I really feel that, from where I stand, no one really looks out for anyone anymore in a genuine way, no one. People make excuses about work and needing to rest and heck I also believe that everyone has the right to be selfish, to be alone with their own thoughts and their own lives as they set their own agendas. It sounds awful, but that’s what we were placed here for anyway.
And yet I keep on walking, crookedly, chipped, one misstep and maybe it’ll all be gone. Still despite how I feel right now, maybe someday one day the world will prove me wrong. How many years you think we still have to live, I wanted to ask you a while ago. I hope you’ll give a good ’nuff number – a year, a decade – I don’t know, but here I am, still looking up, thinking once you call it, it’ll be enough to change my mind.
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Pictured: That’s a shoefie, baby
Finally Dee 