paint the town black

Last night I had a dream that it was ten years from now. I was homeless. I lived in a beautiful, clean, bustling city beneath a busy bridge. I was fortunate to have been provided with a small cot to sleep on. But this, and a bottle of water, was all that I had. Ocassionally, I would have strangers visit me. Sometimes even old friends would pass by. They would stop for a moment and look at me with sad gazes, and smile. Then carry on about their lives in their fancy shoes and suits. Always the same look. “What happened?”  A question that I ask myself every day. I convince myself that there was nothing I could have done to avoid getting here. This was how it was meant to be. Alone, showing others a different side of life. A reminder for the fortunate to be grateful for all they are given. But…maybe there was something that I could have done. I was just too caught up in the bullshit of fate to see my chance. Or is fate real? I make my bed. And am suddenly thrown back in time to every relationship that I ended because I convinced myself that I deserved better. And maybe I did. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I deserved it all. All of my burned bridges appear before me. They look at me beneath my own bridge, with the same wondering eyes. “What happened? How did you get here?” I stare at each of them. All of them happy and successful. Defeated, I take to my cot and fall asleep.

But they know why I’m here.

p.g.

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