Thursday, March 01, 2007

borrowed pencils

You feel divided when cars pile up at the mayhem of rush hour.When you go shopping yet end up with nothing but a freakin hat and a striped shirt you probably won't even fit in to.Or when you're driving with two fat friends talking about molestation while Stephen Lynch sings about 'superheroes' in the background.

Breakfast at 10pm has suddenly brought about a new meaning in my life.Scrambled eggs,sugar-coated french toast,crispy hash browns,buttery biscuits,fluffly pancakes.Asians who can't pronounce 'dessert'.Bald waiter who stands randomly.There is no purpose to some things.Kind of like borrowed pencils.You know you're never going to return them,what's the point?When do we really start convincing ourselves that this is it?No reruns,no second chances.A memory is made and thus we are to live with it,wishing,hoping,praying, that things weren't the way they were.If only I was 18 instead of 5.If only Bush wasn't elected again.If only..if only...And just like that,you're sitting on your front porch one fine summer day.Your cat in your lap,icy lemonade melting quickly,watching the pretty neighbour take her kids for a round of soccer practice.Them making their memories as you sit and rot with yours.

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