Saturday 10 February 2018


If we're born with our map to the end of our race in hand

And our minutes are already counted

And everyone we'll ever meet is already going to meet us

And everyone we'll love, loves us already even though they don't know us yet,

And those who will in turn hate us, already carry it safely in their heart like a lump of coal not destined to become a diamond

And every tear, smile, laugh and hug is accounted for

And every fake orgasm is stored next to the real ones in wrapping that is seemingly exactly the same

And every meal is planned, trip booked, book lined up on a shelf,

Why do we try so hard to make each moment count twice?

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Thank you for taking the time to read and comment. I try to reply to as many as I can either here or by email. <3 LJx