I never danced to the music that change played. I reminded myself each time I should but I could not. I am not a beach, am I? I am not made of sand, am I? I don't like myself being scattered by a wave each time I gather myself up. I cannot rearrange so soon and so many times.
Change is the only thing constant, it is said. Why can't I protest? Why bother if life is this fickle? It takes a lot of effort, you know to finish your chores and then the horror to find it messed up again.
A cribbing sonofabitch, I have become and it is easy to say I wasn't at fault. Does it make me any less a man if I admit that at the end of the day I am not the master of my destiny?
This is not the life, I ordered. Hell! I didn't even order. I wasn't given the choice.
So whom do I approach for a refund? You who silently watches and smiles? You who cannot give up your mischievous self and have to pull a fast one on me almost every time? You who feigns ignorance and pinches on the sly?
How much more can I pay? I am broke. Broke in every possible sense. You need to throw the molasses away when there is nothing more to squeeze out.
Leave me be. Leave me to stagnate. Leave me to collect dust. Leave me to get used to one minute of this life at least.
Leave!
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Nothing leaves Biprorshee
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