New year's eve has become considerably more bearable for me
since I gave up trying to pretend I belong somewhere.
Of course in fact I can't help belonging.
We all belong,
even those of us for whom it seems like we don't;
we belong to our not-belonging.
Might as well face it:
there's no way out,
not even death will get you out of this one;
not for any reasonable meaning of the word "out".
There is no nothing,
there's always something,
and us, stuck forever in our condition of something,
giving it everything in our attempts to
convince each other that some second of a year
is more meaningful than another one.
It all might sound a bit miserable,
but the thing to know is that I will be smiling
an almost priceless smile,
and wishing you all the love and happiness in the world,
when I tuck myself up,
in my comfy bed,
at 11 o'clock.
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 674 times
Written on 2015-01-01 at 10:07
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