Daily meditation books from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The bindings are dry and crumbling, but the words inside have yet to fade. Such a beautiful display of decay. My life as of late has played out like a tragedy of Shakespearean absurdity, filled with errors and exits overlapped by acts of illness and incompetence. The curtains rise and all is in place, the curtains fall and chaos seizes all. Cues are forgotten, understudies have moved on, and a spotlight of assumptions and internalized accusations forever burns the pinholes in my eyes. And so I've come to realize the play is not the thing, and I've given up on catching, the conscience of a king.
But as the curtain rises once again, I will try my best to make it through to the end.
1 comment:
this writing is good. you are a good writer aimee. also, i wanted to take this opportunity to say that i like your piece for dear president.
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