And you think these thoughts; if I could just this. Or, if I could only that. Fall in love. Win the lottery. Move to Italy. Whatever. But none of those things would really change it, you know? They’d just be the photo lady rolling up the backdrop of the red tulips and pulling down the one that’s blue with all the stars, but the photo’s still you. Still your put-on smile. Still your restless hands. Still your same head-shaped head. And when you’re done, you still have to get up and push through the glass door with the words on it, backwards from the inside, and walk out into the same dirty light. Put on your headphones. Hands creeping into dark pockets. Unpause the music. Figure out where to let your feet fall.
Copyright © 2012 Shawnacy Kiker