She was my best friend growing up, I think kindergarten through sixth grade. It was convenient to have a friend your age right across the street.

There was no betrayals or bitter falling outs. We just had different classes in middle and stopped talking.

I was mad at Her at first, for leaving me alone. Then I made friends. They were mean and I spent the whole misery sixth grade with them. I was mad at them and Her.

Then I made new, and actually good friends in seventh grade. As my anger at Her faded, I kind of forget about Her too, not even realizing She moved farther into the neighborhood in eighth grade.

Sophomore year of high school, She was in a class with me. We smiled and made small talk. More like acquaintances than friends. I saw her and spoke to Her, but She wasn't really there.

She is friends with one of my friends. My friend told me that She showed them a picture of me when I was younger. It might have been fourth grade, when She had a disposable camera.

I still see Her in the hallways, sometimes we smile and wave. She's not in my life anymore, but I haven't forgot her.

Even when I go off to college in a few months, and she won't physically be in my life anymore, I hope she'll still be there in my mind.

My fair lady where have you gone. It's been years now since I saw the light disappear from your eyes. At that same time the light dimmed in mine. I dream of you, you know. Your hand in mine. Yet when I awake you're not by my side. I struggle to keep the warmness that dream had. But it still fades. Even in spirit you tease me. How did I put up with such an eccentric. How I wish you'd hold me again, that you'd kiss me one more time. I wish to be with you, but this life isn't done with me yet. Please do wait for me. Do not reincarnate too soon, I don't know if I'm strong enough for that game of hide and seek. But you'll find me I'm sure. You always do. Until we meet again I'll try to be the man you loved. But it's hard, after all I was only that man because you were with me.

I liked every post and commented on most, in the hopes that we would toast.

Over a dinner that's simple, for I'm not a big spender.

But For her I'd spend my last, I just wish that my last didn't come so fast.

What can I give you, my heart, after all it only beats for you.

As we sit across this table, we chat as 1s but I'd like for us to be two.

If you'd grab my hand It'd be warm to the touch, hot enough to melt the morning snow.

As I looked into your eyes I already seen a life in which we grow old.

My love only growing, each year better than the last, cause each year is more time spent with you.

But you don't feel for me the same do you.

My heart bleeding on the table, but yours pristine, without even a nick.

How can I start a flame with wood burned from frost.

I thank you for giving my love a day, for this world that's usually gray, was bright and sunny today.

The possibility of our love has it ever crossed your thoughts.

I said thank you for giving me a day, but It may take more to piece together.

My Shattered Heart.

My motto comprises to exalt in this moment rather than delude myself with any grandiose illusions.

PREFACE: PREPARE TO SET ASIDE A PARTIAL ETERNITY

TO PERUSE THE CONTENTS OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE.

Ohm my...volt a morte...

coalescence of coaxed friendship

analogous to miraculous birth

whoa there lovely reader,

no doubt without resistance,

your smile can generate

amp pull power to light up earth

noah matter this totally tubular stranger

unknown to thee as Adam,

evokes an aura, charisma, enigma,

patina, persona...wis spurs this note

to kindle courtesy tinder warm

fine companionable individual connection

exuding sheepish mirth

per intuiting your wool e worth.

I enjoy making accessible, convincible,

evincible, gullible, intelligible,

kissable invoking comments

perhaps on account oof a cerebral dent

though many respondents rage at this gent

sans his playful wordiness leant

only genuine acquaintanceship meant,

and their valuable time spent

to decipher my gibberish,

which binary logorrhea might rent

asunder unsuspecting cyber surfer

evicted out the human league

since possessing propensity

for presenting ambitious, burdenous,

conspicuous, disadventurous, onerous,

and tremendous cerebral task

necessitating hours decrypting

blurb subsequently forcing

whatever gender appended recipient

to an anonymous he/she,

forsaking their precious time

maybe even unwittingly affecting individual

impacting his/her employment

ending result they/them live in a tent.

This poet knows a mew lion

ranges of feline artful dodging cat skills,

(especially when cavorting among comedians

associated and linkedin with Borscht Belt - ha)

concocting incomprehensible confusing trills.

Some of these claws pickling skills include maintaining mouse sized dignity muttering cheeses crust (while under fire from Stuart little), kibitzing, nibbling on self crafted bon mots, and rubbing dead giveaway crumbs (from double entendres) using all faux paux into thy maw paw cent less whole foods masticating mouth, where commestibles enter without choppers.

Sanguine at one hundred minus thirty six, or two squared + three squared + four squared + five squared + square root of one hundred = an apt and pithy phrase to matt's matrix labyrinth best characterized as a twisted maze (along a boulevard of broken dreams) lodged deeply inside this dutiful dada shackled to an endless role of scullion, but silently gesticulated for salvation.

This spruced up fun guy (and not unduly coy -- see) pines for friendship to cure nostrum from domestic plight i.e. living like a caged rat in cell bite size state.

Just a spoonful of sugar (hummed to that classic mary poppins melody) will most definitely help this medicine go down.

Mine current existence like a modern Henry David Thoreau bound by dependency of the twenty first century civilization.

After perusing this rambling prose (from mine being psyche feeling walled in), you might judge this personal struggle more on a par with Oliver Twist.

I sincerely seek salient gallant wings (with or without dish pan hands) to take this humble human being who can (ha) bring a fairy tale ending to my Cinderfella patterned existence.

Away I want to soar no matter such fantasy a fool's paradise.

An extra ticket to paradise (actually four powerball tickets bought today – September 7th, 2023 for that reason) just needs to be made manifest, and thee could be a boon, balm, salve, and tonic plus receive preferential treatment to travel in tandem with one stranger in a strange land.

Only upon surrendering to a deep and peaceful boss ah nova heavy metal sleep, (which dream state will take place soon) does the fictional world (within the wide wedded web of this wayward thinking wanderer) take hold and serve up a brief hiatus to a life devoid of contentment.

This amateur baker would cook up a souffle or rhubarb ken pie if willingly processed from mine own personal lake woebegone awash with raw bits of flotsam and jetsam and empty boxes of powdered milk biscuits, the one with big blue stains on the outside.

San sol invictus served ancient civilizations as their com-stock load.

Like a modern day icarus this wedded warbler mulls the possibility of finding a real live likeness of what constitutes a hologram of his mythic muse, who exudes able bodied confidence donning every filament.

Keep on dreaming cyber buddy, an anonymous reader might think, telepathically communicate or even communicate via email, which idealism goads me to broadcast the following fanciful (and perhaps not so far fetched) feasible find among the frequent purveyors of this website.

The vague nebulous barely perceptible kernel of a fictional account per my own conjured up vision (as pertains to what might comprise a companionable buddy to me) could conceivable materialize into an actual arch de triumphant revelation once landing this wistful nugget of an idea into the conscious of unconscious mind of an unknown gallivanting guise fellow writer, who just by a fluke (of the worm holes populating the universe) finds themself piqued with curiosity about me.

Not a whit of information yet exists about this dabbler of prose, who envisions himself in seventh heaven (no matter he in truth really admits to espousing an atheistic outlook on the cosmos), where fickle finger of fate (usually the middle one raised by an obstreperous onlooker) ideally finds me all in the family within human species able to articulate in a civilly (disobedient) and democratic manner emotions, ideas, sentiments and thoughts with an unpretentious air of sophistication.

Said Homo sapien (meaning balsamic scented hominid) would also possess a cosmopolitan demeanor, yet clear of all any modest knotty suaveness, but also able, eager, ready and willing to allow, enable and provide quite an ability to get into an amazing tangle of literary profundity.

This older fellow seriously believes he got borne in an in apropos century and revels in another illusory consideration - aside from trying to summon forth a living gal of flesh and bone from this overactive imagination maybe an accompanying bipedal hominid within medium of time travelling.

Frequent farcical notions flit to and fro inside the biggest sex organ triggering bonafide premature ejaculations of bonhomie. Case in point hair with not an immensely large head.

This wordsmith would feel at home if transported to the renaissance or medieval ages, or more recently that war between the north and south.

If hedging bets with yours truly being a reincarnated union soldier of yore, you no doubt already can infer, where thy political and more pertinently national federation of me as singularity amidst webbed wide world would get cast.

Okay, the original aim of (what many might hashtag as yahoo) really wishes to explore make believe world, and just maybe prick inquisitive online browser, who although she might not be seeking male relationship just by happenstance or circumstance experiences some inexplicable necessity to reply.

In the event should lady luck liberate yours truly would be like a divine guiding star, I know best to tamp down any precipitous illusions of grandeur, but would let the natural course of familiarity usher the chap a roan of sacredness to be cherished for however short or long such a friendship might endure.

Oh yes, an ongoing (specifically offline) interaction motivates this doubting thomas fool hardy spurious posting to be ransacked with absolutely total consent in an effort to be plucked from this (utterly difficult to describe) morass of contemptuous husbandry discontent with self, yet consideration to stay faithfully married with wife (since July 25th, 1996) would be a moderately strong consideration.

So, now with a zing

or an unexpected

gold plated invitation after yodeling

hoop ye kin be a yang 2 me yin

Asia step into the digital xing

via summit da fall low wing

written ass jest byte ting

tongue in cheek unsure if phone will ring

in an effort to hear pleasant,

yet discordant musical ka -- ching

for cherished pennies, nickels, dimes,

et cetera from heaven to bring.

Well nigh every night finds me to sit bolt upright (bright eyed and bushy tailed) when deeply immersed in dreamland if only to recaptcha a figment of my overactive imagination ably linkedin to forsaken relationships that never manifested into fleshed out destiny teasing me for being such a foolish lad letting potential love's labour's lost beget regret, delivering nothing but disappointment and grief and duly allowing, enabling, and providing another more assertive beau to savor lovin' spoonfuls because yours truly (me) did not give them (fair lassies) chase to Gather ye rosebuds while ye may (the first line from the poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time" by Robert Herrick); Actually, the words come originally from the Book of Wisdom in the Bible, chapter 2, verse 8. It was the inspiration for several works of art:

Stubborn illusions of glandular grandeur subsequently vie for attention, and supplant thwarting awaited visit from the sandman, which eagerness to bathe consciousness with fantastical webbed wide world overtakes me to slumber. Tis boot a blink of eyes, when lids become submerged into subconscious. Once transition from wakefulness to unconsciousness envelops, an alluring female apparition materializes. This luminescence halo delivers joyousness. Aye behold ethereal maiden. She will emerge while I remain somnambulant. Tis with utmost avidity this wordsmith alights, when nightly occurrences ply radiant willowy wisp. She bedazzles fleeting lustrous poignancy. Although imaginary, this holograph spellbinds. The lass perches slipstream between wakefulness and sleep. While awaiting nightly return of fabulous essence, I crafted and softly sing the following verse.

Chorus:

she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air

no worries existed for whose well being she did care

with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair

amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair

attracting like a magnet every person she that came near

spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!

tossed out the fashion boutique on a cushion four square led

this lady in red

with her snug outfit against her slim body did wed

pizzazz and personality that bred

this well healed nanny with high street cred

made sure charges looked spiffy and well fed

chorus:

she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air

no worries existed for whose well being she did care

with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair

amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair

attracting like a magnet every person she that came near

spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!

atop shoulders bounced a well coiffed and adorable head

drawing followers wherever she led

and listened to her soothing sotto voce voice no matter what she said

chorus:

she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air

no worries existed for whose well being she did care

with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair

amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair

attracting like a magnet every person she that came near

spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!

I lay to sleep on a cool winters night and I bring the covers close with all my might. The comfort I feel with the blankets so tight is throwed off by one thing that's in my sight.

Even in the darkness of my room I noticed one thing loom

My door opened slightly... And as I continue to stare it seems to be open slightly more. It's bothering me to my core, how the door seems to be open slightly and slightly more.

Though this comfort I adore, it comes in my mind.... To get up and close the door.

Though my rooms dark, I see darkness seeping in, I try to ignore again and again, the more I try the more darkness seeps in

Now I'm in my head, scared to move from my bed, so the path to close my door is one I won't tread

I'm scared of what's in the darkness.... A hand that may grasp me.

So I stay under my blankets where I'm sure nothing can catch me

So my door shall stay ajar, though it's not far, For I'm scared.... Scared of darkness's avatar.

The avatar I do not know, but the whispers I hear sure, or maybe it's the sound of the snow outside hitting the floor.

Why did it have to be a winter night, when I'm wrapped so tight, does the darkness have to show all it's might.

The snow illuminates the ground, but my blinds are down, so none of it's light reaches my door.

I'm scared of darkness's allure and if the light reached a bit more, so that I'd be sure.... Sure that nothing is waiting at the crack of my door.

What was it that brushed my face last night?

Old spiderwebs? Dim spirits? Soft hair?

None of these, unless in mirrors.

I felt the scattered fragments of your mind

In wave after wave of rising and falling and gyrating

Chest-pulling movements to travel between worlds.

I have no power but my awareness,

No reformations but my memory and its

Repeated malformations.

I have no time-machine save my words, my paper,

My word processor and usb drive,

My notebook with the thought of you and

Universe carried---dust and pollen---through

Transience and in/convenient broken-down mechanisms.

But I lay there, breathing, forgetting to breathe,

Laughing in the darkness,

And realizing I had foundered my way through

Another clumsy dance, without knowing you were

Moving too, skittish, afraid---

Or was that just me?

You heard the same song at least,

Or something like it.

I could've sent myself to oblivion,

Asked you to come too,

Wrapped in promises and impositions;

Could have drifted into false-god-ness like a

Hell-bound tyrant, implored you

To change me, change you, fix the broken sky,

Bind the moon to its position above the treeline,

Whirling dervishes---endless gyrations

To praise a deathless lie: Permanence Almighty.

I've done it before! Again and again

And again, watched the world come to be

And thought I'd catch it, sketch it,

Dissect it, perceive it, keep it

Safe and sterile and unchanging behind the glass,

Pretending it's alive and flitting about

And not pinned down by its wings,

Because I couldn't tell when the life left its eyes,

And thought perhaps this was just

How life looked from the outside,

Wondered at its value.

I wasn't there when she was suddenly

Not form, turned to dust,

No longer ever alive, and I couldn't figure out

Why I couldn't see it, when ever and anon these

Others like me (but not like me) cried out,

"Oh, and she has passed away,

Gate, gate, pāragate, pārasaṃgate..."

Why they waved goodbye and I still stood

Upon the same shore, but saw naught but horizon,

No boat, no ferryman, no mystery unfolding, just

Puzzles unsolved, memory corrupting as I watched

Like the files on my flash drive---did they ever exist?

Were they ever written?

Was there ever a world?

Ever a light?

Ever a flutter of wings in the yawning cavern of my chest?

Or had I forgotten to click 'save'?

Was I too late... too late...?

And here is a stirring,

A file re-opened,

A memory awakened,

From the time before I ever drew breath.

And inspired, drawing light, bending it around

Our heads and exchanging it between our mouths and our fingers,

I take in the spirits and remember---I remember!

Ah, gate, gate, pāragate...

You and I and others

Contained and released---too soon!

A whole twenty-three minutes early, imagine that.

A whole twenty-three months too short.

No-- No, perhaps not.

I stray into godliness.

"Repent, He roars, for Sin has caused the plague.

But we say, 'Dirt---so wash.'"

I drew a bath, burned it out,

And exhaled myself until I sank

Deep into the ground

And drifted above while I

Dissolved below.

Why rip the world in twain

When it yet spins so delicately upon its

Relative axis and displays all its magnificence

Within the movements of each other's eyes?

Knowing all the while the same wonder

Exists everywhere---but noticing,

Pulling,

Being pulled,

Spinning about in this moment---

This particular moment,

This particular space in time,

Short as the straw that spells death---

By and with each other,

For here is the All and Nothing-at-all

As it has manifest now:

A word, the repeated cry of a far-drifting bird,

A thought shared a thousand ways,

A conversation scattered across the stars---

Your words, new constellations in the cloudy sky

Seen in the darkness, worlds apart,

Records in the black,

Flowers on glass, blanket on grass,

Can't tell the birds from the blossoms...

Jasmine-scented way-station

And too soon: the impatient night

Slipping under the sheets.

I would have slept beside you,

Talked until we fell asleep,

Listened until your words became

Whispers, sighs, yawns, and

Gentle silence in the morning light.

I do not know yet who I am,

Whether devil-god or only human.

But what would it profit me to know?

I think I'll just let this world turn

In all its subtle poison-remedy.

No cognitive retreat.

No soulful desperation.

And with a child's wonder

I'll let it in and let it go,

And will not tear the world apart

Just to pin it down behind glass

And hang it on the wall.

Strewn like scattershot,

I unearthed tattered bits

think shroud of Turin

for benevolent salvation

couched within substantial

backed up electronic archive

once we got told VAMOOSE

from mouse and roach infested dive

within MainLine snooty hive

of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.

Now yours truly

can revisit the past with delight

without fear of eviction

forcing him to take flight,

nevertheless yours truly hopes

former nadir can be complemented

by experiencing fanciful rags

to riches metaphorical height.

The following communiqué birthed

out the scrambled noggin of this chap

courtesy midwife viz Google

to help me validate NOT misspelling

without causing figurative gums

(of stodgy English majors) to flap,

when clarification arose to corroborate

to then property manager

here at Highland Manor Jackie Geiger

presumed definition of various words

clarification regarding domestic crisis

appended with subsequent

broad literary brush strokes,

for eyes of residential management,

who might help map

our way onto positive destiny –

(that long since became a done deal)

so don’t coon sitter this gibberish pap,

intent to broadcast poetic plea

per parti-colored newsletter

sew we zippered up suitcases with a snap.

Feel free to ketchup with chat up

a positive future conversation

sans long-term accommodation,

now passed thru ladies chain

and do-si-do the corporate

cyber net flittering,

snapchatting, twittering miasma

for sought after assistance -

(date of spluttering gobbledygook

long since elapsed)

beef - fore this bleak housed

haunted man outlook perished

then unable to pry

ice cold fingers loose

from frigidaire personal home life travail,

now tis time this ruse stirred, glommed, and

dashed off digital squawking

as mine trumpeting missive

regarding this youthful looking primate

deplorable basket case.

Ah...when as many decades ago younger dude,

dapper daddy done donning daily diaper duty

dem whar da good ole days, when chased

by prospective missus cluck

(waving iron skillet -

sought to recaptcha me), I tried to duck,

now once we happened to be

down on our ill luck

with barely any money to our name,

thank yours truly

we lived gnarled hand to mouth

mired in monetary muck,

our circumstances appeared stuck

and...oh...how the temptation

doth tempted me to hightail and truck.

Boot...where in tarnation

(without any featherbed)

would I go once exiting the front door

truth be told, we ne'er

got any monetary windfall -

thus living financially

precarious quite a chore

nyat, none, and nada endowment

from that rich Uncle Sam –

Asia last-ditch effort,

a manger horse stall

might be our abode and nay bore –

unless weak could have ponied up,

to git off the carousel of time,

and shimmy atop a Clydesdale to coax fate

with mucho moolah

for this Harris son to adore.

Thee crisis of legal tender,

thus found fingers flew across

QWERTY keyboard with message

then upon Lenovo external screen I emboss

Typing SOS to communicate

pennilessness plight, which loess

on par with ma penury and dirt poor status,

where hide feign to be moss

heart reincarnated, though unsure

if that faux role would be a toss

up, and bring a happy good luck

penny-wise outcome sans place to live.

Asthma non-sequitur linkedin

with Jar Jar Binks, we felt cramped

buffered aspirin like

Bing bottled up in Lower Merion

fugetaboutit no matter rent

twas rather steep,

we chose this residence so youngest darling

thee then seventeen year old daughter

could continue to attend

said storied school district,

(who nevertheless subsequently

decided to live with

mine sweeping damn the torpedoes

younger sister dwelling in Bend, Oregon),

while eldest matriculated as Freshman

at The University of Pennsylvania

long since original writing,

me and the missus now inhabit

the one bedroom apartment

located in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.

Long story short -

cuz unabridged version would resort

into infinite space/time continuum beyond,

with silent sonic boom solace from words

echoing sounds of silence

viz this ethereal bulletin,

and would drive one to down a quart

of the strongest ale, gasoline, stout or port

which contraction of mine logorrhea,

would justify me be taken to people's court.

Leaving no time to watch Wallace and Gromit,

who claimed moon iz made out of cheese,

or mice elf to be cagy, nor monkey around

though with focused energy

loosed caboose doth bound,

this wordsmith id est,

a zoological muggle self crowned

aspired to avail Avast goody bag proffered

this shout out for good n plenti Samaritan -

Indeed hoop fully redound

while corporeal of mine essence earthbound -

barring a place for us tubby found

before lease at 724 West Railroad Avenue,

Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania expired,

AND WOULD NOT BE RENEWED.

Then I was prone to live underground

or maybe share a doghouse

with Beagle, Boxer Dalmatian Bred Greyhound,

which dog gone dome main

recognizable by a little mound

while macabre music

set to the words of Ezra Pound

with slow crescendo to suspenseful sound

counterbalanced when relief

of amenable accommodations

inducing me to issue

a mighty exhalation of tension unwound.

An average sized house to rent

would have done the trick

strong n sturdy habitat,

nah nothing exceptionally slick

oh, and spouse also hoped

to acquire social security quick,

no matter the odds to locate an affordable

one or two bedroom square flat,

or even a moon unit shaped like obelisk

portrayed in 2001 A Space Odyssey

might be slim pick

kin - all rhyme aside -

finagling words gave me a kick/

jump starter, I NEEDED/WANTED

A SAFE n SECURE PLACE -

where methinks in retrospect

(a penniless po’ papa prophet)

living quarters can be icon class hick

and freely type out this,

that, or another rhyming lick

whence literary product

analogously strong as stone and/or brick.

Before experiencing deliverance

while hands tightly clasped invoking

broken wing and prayer

genuine appreciation...communication,

and elation will likely (did) ascend

hash tagging thee as unsung

fur - vent underdog hero

on par with opera staring

voicing sotto voce beneficence,

invoking me to do calisthenics backward

as if made from papier-mache

origami pliable to bend

wonders if this electronic effort

will ease anxiety that doth expend

and zap willpower ambition

to sustain optimism, and...well...

ya could beak comb an instant karma omg -

spontaneous sought after friend

this amiable good fella recognizing salvation

qua re: as goddess or godsend

to perform property caretaker tasks

these strong hands lend

broken mechanical appliances,

that requires attention to mend

if necessary provide financial

compensation deep - pend

Mutual (of Omaha –

and the ghost of Carl Perkins)

agreeable contractual obligation will rend

er Vis a vis zit heady costs to spend

so peace of body, mind n spirit,

this husband and wife team can tend

perhaps experiencing marital contentment

as their parallel lives

intertwine and separately wend.

Since all gold plated

suburban grates unavailable they went

like hot cakes, nor premium

heavy metal city vent

left, this wordsmith would hate

to be camped in an uber tent,

which would frankly zappa

my health and force measly money

on bare necessities to stay safe strunk and

white elements of style,

wood beg to be spent

thus this chap wonders

if maintenance tasks acceptable

in lieu of skipping part of thee rent

admits to quality

as a mild mannered married civil

(non warring) Yankee gent.

Though lacking an earned income

(social security saving grace

courtesy disability panic attacks

in tandem with anxiety -

mitigated with pharmacological medication)

daydream rich folks galore

could stage fund raising event,

which rally round the flag boys -

may invite juiced a dent

aye dune hot own even one red cent,

where bad company doth tempt

pest fugit, who doth recapitulate

and be wu tang clan dost stein

amidst/ amongst foghat village people,

when limbs numb and bent

turn attention to superman, maxwell, batman,

or....another dub - bull

land o' Lake Lachrymose agent.

Ignore, Abort, Retry,

Fail error message

an MS-DOS or Windows

command line error

do not COMB H - E - L - P ---

before the (long since elapsed)

stroke o' mid knight of 30 June

SPRING TWO THOUSAND AND SEVENTEEN

WE GOT TO MOVE ASAP,

PER MINE KING DUMB COMB

AND HIS ROOKY of a mercurial QUEEN.

Postscript: that twas the news

from Lake Woebegone

gripped with an undeniable

and irrepressible under tone

where this papa iz quick

with a double entendre and/or pun

sometimes even bringing a guffaw

to thee momma – hun,

when either one or more offspring

bid fare thee well when parenting done

tis startling to reconstitute such –

figurative bun in the oven (if guided

with Plenti of Joyous Hi5’s )

progeny become Linkedin

Match less among anon

nee mouse Crowdsource sing, Groupon Living

social twittering chattering class.

A man, gun to his head, was asked, "what reason do you have to stay alive."

"Not many" he responded. A Daughter in school, a newborn at home. A wife who will find it difficult to get by without me. A mother I care for and friend's I'm fond of.

That seems like important reasons, yet you said not many.

You didn't ask of their value, but I would consider five to be not many. There may be some that have many more. But if we were to put them on the scale, mine would weigh many more. A person can love all things, but cannot put love in all things. I have but five and my heart is full. I care for a many great other things. Trees, animals, arts, and other things alike. But I would destroy what I care for, for what I love.

It's funny because you asked, what reasons do I have to stay alive. But those are the exact same reasons I'd die for. I'd burn in hell if it meant they could stand on my shoulder's and enjoy heaven.

Many people rethink their choice once they get to know me. I tell myself each time that it doesn’t matter, but a little part of me dies, never to be justified with a burial or tears of goodbye. Oh well, a little less to recycle down the line.

Many people reduce the contact they have with me, emotionally, physically. Boredom is contagious, and so is my joyless experience of the world. When it comes to two sponges meeting, I always fill the other with my void, instead of absorbing a little taste of life.

People reuse me for a few specific purposes. No matter how miserable their lives get, mine is always worse. When they’re feeling down they’ll offer a drink at one in the morning on Saturday. Of course I’m home alone. Of course I don’t have anything better to do. Of course I’ll come and keep them company. I can’t judge the drunken mess that grows before me, my life is so much worse.

When you see me again you won’t recognize me. Life will yet again have thrown me into a new mold. If I was a carton, I would bear the stamp of ‘recycled plastic’ with pride on my forehead, but instead I shrink from the world. When I was in high school I was molded into the class dork, I was the guaranteed daily entertainment, books and tray sent flying every lunch time. When I was at uni I was molded into a waitress to get by, thrown from one rough pair of hands to another, the tips far and few between. At my first graduate job I was molded into a secretary, countless paygrades below what I studied for. I guess that’s what a pair of breasts and no voice gets you. I fooled myself for a second, that I was finally taking charge of my life, and I quit to become a librarian. I slipped into my familiar high school mold, the environment only fractionally kinder. Well wishing family members bullied me into joining a knitting club, and I found myself in a new mold yet again. Every time I get remolded, there’s another set of fingerprints in me that I can’t shake. Some are but whispers, others are deep as stab wounds. Every time I get remolded, I get a bit less flexible. One day I’m afraid I’ll get stuck between molds, and the world will finally reject me once and for all. Every time I get remolded, I lose a bit more of myself. There’s only so many more times it can happen before there’ll be nothing left to recycle.

Copyright Anna Treffer