We waste so much time
wanting to be right.
Trying to remove every speck of dust
from the mantle,
every smudge from the mirror.
Arguing over scraps of pride.
Dragging old wounds
out of dusty closets,
holding them up like trophies.
Look what they did to me.
Look what I survived.
Look who owes me an apology.
Meanwhile,
another decade disappears.
The coffee gets cold.
The grass turns brown.
The dog gets gray.
The people we love
become old Polaroids
while we were busy
being angry.
Funny thing about life.
Nobody gets out of here
with the last word.
We’re not staying.
The rich man.
The poor man.
The asshole.
The saint.
The grave stays undefeated,
levels everybody.
All those battles
and resentments
wrapped in pretty bows
that we thought mattered
become dust,
tumbleweeds blowing
across an empty road.
I’m not saying
we shouldn’t hurt.
We do.
People break promises.
People leave.
People carry their own damage
and hand it to someone else
through cruel language
and hard looks.
That’s the human condition.
A bunch of wounded
and scared animals
walking around,
pretending we know
what we’re doing.
But damn,
we’re here.
Breathing.
Pissing.
Sitting on toilets,
drinking coffee.
Watching birds land
on naked branches
in the fall.
Still getting another morning
that wasn’t promised.
Another morning
to do something different.
Maybe we should forgive
a little sooner.
Maybe we should say
I love you
before ego blurs the way.
Maybe we should stop waiting
for the perfect moment.
Because the perfect moment
is usually the one
we are too busy ignoring.
One day,
the phone will stop ringing.
The chair will be empty.
The car will sit
in a junkyard.
The house will go quiet
as a flea.
And all the things
we fought so hard
to protect
will belong
to someone else.
So maybe kindness
isn’t weakness.
Maybe it’s the only thing
we carry with us
when everything else
gets left behind.