There is a slow progression, a tree trunk adding another ring around its core, another branch on the stem, another storey on the high rise, that still exists in this life. It does not thrill, or come with trumpets blaring A "Level Up" screen or the flex of the arms, but with dim, glowing satisfaction: this is the closest happiness we have in this life without difference this life without change The Eternal Unending
There is a part of me that expects The floor to open up And to sallow me I do not believe this life to be real - I expect the illusion to unveil itself any day now Showing that I was never destined for this life, This is was a temporary thing that I would look back upon the jealous fondness As I spend my oldest years in destitution.
I have it good. I have much to me thankful for. But there is much I want...
Is all human desire the same? Is the excessive want for fame and mansions the same as this present gnawing for human companionship? (Which is to ask - is it let-go-able?)
WOMAN 1 Why do you hold onto your anger?
WOMAN 2 At this current rate, your rage will consume you
WOMAN 3 You body decays with rage - it was meant to be exercised -
THOMAS (on the ground, crying.) Because I can't! He left us alone there to rot and die! We had no money, no way of getting by If I didn't do something we'd all die... Mom wouldn't do anything, so I had to work... I worked so we could afford almost nothing, but enough to keep us alive... And I told myself that I would never forgive him. Because - Because if I didn't... If I let him back into my life... There would be no way to know whether it could happen again.
(TELEVISION turns on. After a second of static, generic 90s cartoons play. The light casts an eerie glow over the cast.)
THOMAS