They say, at the end, nothing matters but how you loved.
That’s true before the end, nothing else matters.
Bills stack up and work sucks and life is cruel at times, we make choices and we make mistakes and we make life,
we create it and sometimes we regret the thing we have made.
A sculptor can roll the form out of the clay and start over,
a painter can douse his work with thinner and try again.
A writer can crumple up paper or hit the delete button and begin again,
but here we are living our art,
living our stories and
we don’t get second chances,
only a finite number of first choices.
We choose and hope.
We try and
we pray and
we do what we can.
I’d be lying if I said I’m doing my best,
or have done my best.
I’ve fucked up
I’ve made wrong choices and
other people have felt the consequences.
I’ve tried to do what I
even when it didn’t benefit me.
I won’t bullshit myself.
I am amazing, sometimes. Other times I’m a complete and total wreck.
All I can do is
keep taking those
All I can do is love as hard
and as truly
as I am able.