Tides
Lately I’ve been grabbing at various strings of thought. Thinking what it would be like if circumstances were different, and not just my own circumstances, but the circumstances of the very world, the universe, the circumstances of the very particles that create invisible, intangible motion.
What would I be like if I was one of them, one of the many rich people in this world that has everything handed to them on a platter coated with blood, silver and dead presidents? Would my life be any easier, would I be any happier right now or would I simply cease to exist? I’d be up in my penthouse apartment grasping my billion dollar throw pillow and staring out at the view of the Whatever City sunset. Or maybe I would be laughing with the rest of my wealthy friends as we laugh at the little things like bills, gas prices and minimum wage jobs.
Or maybe I’d be living in a third world country or just a broken world. $5.15 an hour would have me living like the king of a king, the god to a god. Maybe I would ride down the pedestrian soaked street in my used car, drawing the envious stares and gaping mouths of those walking. I’d live in an apartment that passes for little more than a box and feel as if I live in the Taj Mahal.
What would I be like if I was a professional thief, taking from the richer than rich and giving to no one but myself. Looking over my shoulder and checking my tail would be like breathing, something I had to do in order to stay alive. I wouldn’t mind it as much because my life would have meaning, discovering the next biggest heist and throwing myself headfirst into danger on a daily basis. I’d pity the poor normal Joes and Janes working their 9 to 5 and struggling to make ends me. I’d slip by well-dressed businessman, sporting a number the Ralph Lauren fall collection, bump into him with an automatic apology and keep walking as I palmed his fine leather wallet in my grasp.
Or maybe I’d be nothing more than a pile of scattered ashes, riding the winds to who knows where. Maybe I’d see my ashes from the Other Side and wonder who misses me, who cried at my funeral and who just didn’t give a damn that I had died. I’d look in on my family and friends from time to time, whispering in their ears that I was okay and that I was in a better place.
What would I be like as a crane, cutting a graceful swath through the air as elegance incarnate. My day would consist of flying, eating, chirping away with my crane friends and wondering what the hell those things were with the stubby legs, colored-grass wrapped bodies and pointing wings that look more like muscled sticks.
But I am none of these things. Instead I am a college student that tries to do the right thing everyday while thinking the wrong thing and hoping that no one notices. Hoping someday that it will all change, it will all get better, that daylight will finally rip away the storm clouds from my own personal island.
So I sit at my bedroom window and watch the sky.
What would I be like if I was one of them, one of the many rich people in this world that has everything handed to them on a platter coated with blood, silver and dead presidents? Would my life be any easier, would I be any happier right now or would I simply cease to exist? I’d be up in my penthouse apartment grasping my billion dollar throw pillow and staring out at the view of the Whatever City sunset. Or maybe I would be laughing with the rest of my wealthy friends as we laugh at the little things like bills, gas prices and minimum wage jobs.
Or maybe I’d be living in a third world country or just a broken world. $5.15 an hour would have me living like the king of a king, the god to a god. Maybe I would ride down the pedestrian soaked street in my used car, drawing the envious stares and gaping mouths of those walking. I’d live in an apartment that passes for little more than a box and feel as if I live in the Taj Mahal.
What would I be like if I was a professional thief, taking from the richer than rich and giving to no one but myself. Looking over my shoulder and checking my tail would be like breathing, something I had to do in order to stay alive. I wouldn’t mind it as much because my life would have meaning, discovering the next biggest heist and throwing myself headfirst into danger on a daily basis. I’d pity the poor normal Joes and Janes working their 9 to 5 and struggling to make ends me. I’d slip by well-dressed businessman, sporting a number the Ralph Lauren fall collection, bump into him with an automatic apology and keep walking as I palmed his fine leather wallet in my grasp.
Or maybe I’d be nothing more than a pile of scattered ashes, riding the winds to who knows where. Maybe I’d see my ashes from the Other Side and wonder who misses me, who cried at my funeral and who just didn’t give a damn that I had died. I’d look in on my family and friends from time to time, whispering in their ears that I was okay and that I was in a better place.
What would I be like as a crane, cutting a graceful swath through the air as elegance incarnate. My day would consist of flying, eating, chirping away with my crane friends and wondering what the hell those things were with the stubby legs, colored-grass wrapped bodies and pointing wings that look more like muscled sticks.
But I am none of these things. Instead I am a college student that tries to do the right thing everyday while thinking the wrong thing and hoping that no one notices. Hoping someday that it will all change, it will all get better, that daylight will finally rip away the storm clouds from my own personal island.
So I sit at my bedroom window and watch the sky.