When you realize that being ordinary has certain benefits. |
A Cold Blow Not everyone is meant to be more than ordinary, you say. You told me this before, and I dismissed you because you might have been content with that way of thinking, but you were always meant to be. We sit there, sipping on something hot, warding off the chill of a newly departed season, and I taste dead leaves. These words, I think to myself, and all others like them, should be forgotten before the last one unfolds, because they lack conviction and reek of resignation. Hey you, I say while hot needles bleed down my throat draining into a pool of cool, I carry my world in a sack over my shoulder, believing that the carefully stitched fabric, portends the greatness within. It’s no burden to the likes of me, while the modest sack you carry looks to be much lighter than mine. I say this with some bemused disdain and pleased with my play, I take another sip. You smile, and look at me with what could only be deprecating derision. Look, you say, rolling your eyes as one does, my sack is certainly lighter, and far more plain, but I’m not struggling to carry it and can walk fairly straight, scarcely aware that I wear it. How do you bear the load in yours? I sheepishly look away, unable to deny that I am slump-shouldered from the weight of a dazzle-bag of ordinary, and shivering madly as some kind of winter crawls over my skin. |