Little Things

Angela, in one of her tinkerbell moments (which is 80 percent of the time) asked, “Do you think life is fair?” as if it was the most natural question to pop on an ordinary day at the office. I shrugged off the question at the time, because of the absurdity of the circumstances in which it was asked.

But it’s a perfectly sensible question, if it was asked in the right situation and in a manner other than goofy, one that we don’t ask ourselves everyday, but one of those that we should when we examine ourselves and our existence.

Of course, life is not fair. If it were, I wouldn’t be wishing you’d turn my way even for a fleeting moment to see in my eyes just what I have for you. If it were, I wouldn’t have to wonder why I just can’t love. Indeed, if it were, it wouldn’t seem to other people, and especially you, that the idea of me loving is a sickening farce.

Anthony always tells me I have no wings, I can’t fly. But I realize, even if I did, I’ll never be able to fly to you. You’re farther away than I ever imagined.

I’ll never understand you. I’ll never understand the world. I’ll never understand life.

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