Am I just lines on a page? I think I'd be okay with that. A curled up sentence extending itself across expanses of time. Answering to the vastness of a passing moment. Years summed up to the letter, until the next relevant plot point. I wish I was just somebody's character, driven forward by a will not of myself. Guaranteed an ending, whether happy or sad. Something of significance, and finality.
I fear if I am just a pawn in a story, then I have been left by the wayside. One of many abandoned for lack of interest. The story moved in another direction, and I was left with a few paragraphs to sum my life up. Menial accomplishments, died peacefully in her sleep at the age of eighty-three. Never married. Had a lot of pets.
If life were the sort of thing you could shift through like swatches of color on a canvas of constructed creativity, then the sleeping I did through long, dreary nights might finally serve some greater purpose. A virtual fast forward button, slogging through the atmosphere to dig up some meaning.
But it isn't, and it doesn't.
· Sat Jan 05, 2013 @ 04:06am · 0 Comments