In the end.

What are you thinking she asks?

There is no answer. Only the silence that she has now come to know.

What happened to all the words?

It seems they were ripped violently from this plane

only to be absorbed by black matter that will never let them go.

Where is the laughter? Why has it died away? Were there no watering holes to fuel it’s liquid needs?

What of the tears?

They have dried and formed small hills of salt on the plains of her existence.

Where is the proof of lovely times past?

It has disappeared like invisible ink.  Only to be seen again when acidic juice falls upon the pages. Revealing what was but is no longer.

What of the heart?

It wills upon itself scar tissue, in the hope of covering open wounds.

But it wasn’t all bad. Right?


Right versus Right …

Is there more than one ‘right way’ to do something?

(I already know the answer but let’s go with this anyway)

I like to be right.

A fact that is somewhat irritating to friends and family.

With the exception of my mother, who believes that she is always right (she’s not).

Which leads me to the above mentioned question.

I have come to the conclusion (an epiphany even)  that there is a ‘right’ way to do something and another way to do it.

Basically I am allowing myself to believe that others should be able to do something their way without it being wrong (even though it is).


It seems I am at a bit of a standoff with myself.

Right versus Right (wrong).

The trick is to not care and simply enjoy the differences. Right?

Uh huh.