Nobody Said It Was Easy

The world is built by people like you. They have their dreams all lined up and they will change the way it even revolves on its own axle. They swear they will. And until they do, they will carry on all those menial tasks that no one else can be bothered with because they are not part of any wise career ladder. Most of them will end up carrying that torch forever, of course. Most people will not change the world. They simply keep it running. You will stand there at the end, your withered dream in hand, and wonder what became of all the things you thought you could have.

She writes to say she booked a concert. She found a venue, her list of potentials is long. It is 4 a.m. and she doesn't care that morning brings a Real World and a Real Job. It turns out, this was what she was supposed to be doing all along, but we knew that. This isn't the happy ever after, this is just another depressing reminder. I read Sylvia Plath on the train and hide the cover; it feels like too much of a cliché. You feel more like Bukowski. You begin to fear it shows. Sometimes he smiles in pictures.

You decide not to die, yet.
There must be 

some reason
for all this.

Beyond a smile 

In a picture.