A suffering little fool.

What a far and wide night when you realize the way day looks. I take a tumble into a past and foreign land, and I grow there for a minute, my roots taking root and forging through deep earth that cracks with my tenacity. But as soon as I grow just as quickly I yank and uproot my desire to stay firmly put in the most ancient of histories.

My daughter is prone to the lie of the life on top, the best life, the world as your oyster. It’s a rancid mollusk I wish to snap shut. There is no good in getting what you want when what you want is hardly ever the point.

What is the point then? A suffering little fool they’ll have me be, and I’ll take it grandly because like Job, here we are with a basket full of sufferings. Take your pick and eat your fill. And watch your heart change with each quick-set beat.

Because the night will starve you for all of its satisfaction and dreamy places to land. It will give you everything until you realize everything is nothing with the lights turned on.

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