Replaceable & Soon Forgotten
Millions of us exit the world daily, with a moan, a sigh, a sob, a lopsided grin, a startled look, or screaming oaths against a universe we were unable to subjugate. Millions more elbow their way out of the birth canal, ready to give life a shot.
If you live long enough, and don’t go out sudden and unexpected, you cross a line. The past comes back to haunt you, not the way you’ve been remembering it, but altered; or perhaps not altered, perhaps more precisely the way it was, and the way you’ve been remembering it is what’s altered. Anyway, there it is, mingling with your translucent present.
When you try to think about the future, a white sand rises up in you that the past washes over like a tsunami; bits and pieces float to the surface of the deluge–broken toys from childhood, dead pets, shriveled moments of glory, echoes of a once radiant romance.
You’ve been toyed with your whole life long.
You’re replaceable and soon forgotten.