It's the beggning and the end

I remember... I remember this time that once, my mother took me to Times Square. I was just only four, and all I remember were people. Old people, fat people, skinny people, young people, and so on and so forth. It was rather fascinating. I love people. Yet, I don't have any friends... I guess that's what I get for all of my dresses being black. People always ask me, "Oh, what a wonderful yet dreadful dress. Are you in mourning, darling?" I've only been in mourning once, and that was for my mother. That was when I started to wear those 'dreadful' dresses. There was no more 'Oh, honey, you must wear this frilly dress, and that frilly dress. You don't want to look like you're in mourning all the time, do you?'. I actually do.

I can't stand any other color than black, now. Too much color makes my eyes hurt. I was more than glad to have been blessed with black hair. And I was more than glad to be blessed with a father who wouldn't push me to paint my face on everyday.

But now, I have no one to tell me what to do. No one. It's just me, myself, and I.

Me, my self, and my mourning.

For my father.

Cold, black coffee and the New York Times.

I shivered, my knees hugged against my chest and my body just a small, trembling lump in an alley way in New York City. My dress was already torn and tattered, dust and dirt covered it inch to inch stich to stich. My hair clung to my forehead and face, as a result from not being able to take a shower for longer than a month. I looked like I was a coal miner, or a young woman working in a dirty factory. I was not a pretty sight, like I used to be, but now just a meer peasant who no one could give less than a damn about. My life was falling apart by the seams. Yet, I kept fighting to live. Every day, I beg for money. A penny. A nickle. A dime. I don't even care anymore. I just need shelter, food, and water.

I can't believe I wasn't able to cherish those things when I had them. I feel like a terrible person, now. I always got all the things I needed, and wanted. Now, I got nothing. Being out here like this, living the life of an un-common New York bum, has given me a lot of time to think about all of this. I've thought about things I've never really wanted to think about, and I've thought of things that I never thought I'd ever think about. But really, all that this world is, is a cruel, and unusual punishment for humans. God put us here so we could be his little puppets. Force us to discover the rest of the world. Force us to do what he or Adam and Eve never did.

Why can't he just leave us alone and let us do what us humans were meant to do?

Live.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.05.2013

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
Dedicated to my Dad, who was, and still is, the best fucking dad ever.