shaking the literary spear

I have seen a vision of one way my life could have gone. It was a life without loss, heartbreak, tragedy. On my death bed concluding that life, I would be filled with regret, I would curse myself for wasting my life, for not going out and trying harder, and risking more, even if it meant failing and encountering pain. I would wish that I did get to experience such a love, and other things.

Another vision. Word gets to you that I’ve died, perhaps, if the dice fall a certain way someone informs you that you were the last thing I spoke of. You look me up, and you read this journal entry, along with all the others in which I sang your name. Ayshalak! Ayshalak!

Do not lament mon couer, I hope your life was fruitful, beautiful, full of love and untold riches! You did the right thing! You were always so smart!

“This catfish..”

It’s fucking horrible.

“Get your money back, report it!”

I don’t want to ruin someones day…

“It tastes like”

Nothing

“and the texture!

scrapes against my teeth making me wince.

I don’t much enjoy eating these days.

“But the money you spent!”

It’s okay, either I’ll make it back or it’ll lead to the progression of the path.

“shaking his literary spear”

Mr. Meyer made that pun and no one laughed,some groaned. Except for me, I was laughing. I laughed too hard and for too long actually.

This has always been the way of things.