Shush. Stay silent, wherever you are. Listen to the sound of your heartbeat.
Do you not hear footsteps from afar?
Do you know if they are after you? Do you think you can make them disapprove? When the whispers are so soft, yet louder than your call? Do you feel you have what it takes to bring them to their senses ?
As the ink blots the paper, and the nib of the pen engraves the table in contemplation, the whispers say something I have always heard. The same, old, sad, sickening story. They tell me that I am too far to turn around, too far to leave, too old to strike another pot, too weak to lift myself, too this, too that. They tell me that I am too pale to look healthy, too ordinary to fit in, and too optimistic to make sense.
Well, I wish I could set the goddamn table into flames. I really do.
Because somewhere skipping in the back of my head, a little devil grins mischievously and asks, “Why not?” 😊