November 4, 2008

why i will cross the street, eventually

it's like i look at my feet, or i look at the mirror, or i imagine myself crossing the street, and i think, what is all this, what do i really need, will i still go forward, what does forward mean, what does it mean to have a job, where am i taking myself, where am i.
what does it mean not to worry, what does it mean to live the day, what does it mean knowing you're lost. how did we all get here, how does one measure a lifetime, how does one live fully? what does it mean to have questions.

one day you think you're not living a pattern like the rest, like you're not passing a stage, like each day cannot be branded "you'll understand later when you're 40," or worse, "you'll know what i'm saying when you've matured enough."
and the next day, everything crumbles right in front of you, you look at the owner of the carinderia and you talk to her and she smiles her hopeful and been-there smile, and you don't get irritated at all, everything that you thought you've become shatters, you're a seed like everyone else and you're growing right according to plan, eventually you'll stop worrying and bloating things up, you will marry, have kids, pay the bills and you will know there is no turning back, you will grow to be 40 and you've learned enough to also smile a been-there smile.

it's all shit then, and we're all eating shit.

so maybe, just maybe i can make myself happier by internalizing it's all about those around the end of the day, it's all about people, the ones i love, the ones i hate, the ones i miss, the ones i wish to be with, the ones i can't call every night, the ones who make me cry, the ones i help, the ones i laugh with.

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