timtv

So this guy, right, he says to me
"Buddy! Hey, Buddy! You gonna eat that?"

I looked at the table beside me and saw that there was nothing on it. I looked to the left and right of me, thinking maybe I had forgotten some sort of umbilical relationship to a half hearted sandwich which was left by my memory to wither and die.

Nope.

Quince? Bison? Peaches, pears?
Hapless headless gummy bears?
Jerky, Giblets, Collard greens?
Popcorn flavored jelly beans?

I looked into my hands, in my pockets, in my stylish and fashionable European men's carry-all... nothing. Or nothing edible anyway. Hm.

And then it clicked. I closed my eyes and looked inside my head where I found that I was still clutching onto the fat and gristle of yesterday's sorrow. There were stains on the tablecloth and crumbs littering the altar where my heart knelt to pray. This was yesterday's leftovers in Tomorrow's kitchen. So I gathered them up in a bundle and wrapped them in a song and sent them from the heart who had carried them so long.

And I opened my eyes and I sang him my song, which he gladly ate until it no longer even had a shadow. At which point he smiled and winked an all-knowing eye and turned his heel to go. His gait was jaunty like he knew great contentment from the weight he had lifted from me, and as his image faded softer and softer into the horizon I called after him

"Sir, what is your name?"

To which he called back

"Twilight."



***

The Moral of the Story: Let it go.