There’s a light in you that I sense. A goodness and an openness—genuineness is what I’ve learned to call it, now, and it’s as rare as a gem and as precious as a heartbeat. There’s a hope in you for a better tomorrow, there’s a pulse that defies all the crossroads that lead out of your skin when they try to cut open your body. There’s a heart that’s been patched up so many times that the original color has been forgotten, the shape has been mauled about a bit, but it’s very much the same heart, and each torn muscle has grown back stronger.
Facebook, wasting our lives since 2005. Facebook, helping us procrastinate since 2005. Facebook, keep us connected to people we’d otherwise have no connection to, since 2005. Facebook like prison; there’s an open invitation for all, but there’s no checking out once you’re in. Facebook like gossip; where your friends are celebrities, the newsfeed is the tabloids, and you can stay updated even while taking a shower as long as you’ve a waterproof phone and keep the soapsuds out of your eyes. Continue Reading
A hospital bed, a shrine of the living and a cradle for the near-dead. Life and Death drawing up two chairs—those horrid, hard, dark blue plastic ones, with the awkward metallic feet and the lack of armrests—and sitting on either side of the bed, playing their card games over the body, shuffling the deck on the rattling chest below them. They’ve played this game many times, countless times, a myriad of times, and each time there’s one of two results, there’s only one winner, there’s only two players to choose from, and the winner is always the same. Continue Reading