We only live one time and we don’t act like it.
Ask the next old person you see this: “Tell me about your life.”
And chances are, almost all of them, every single one of them, is going to start with
They all wished.
They wished they worked harder.
They wished they spent more time with their families.
They wished they didn’t listen to their parents and did what they wanted to do.
They wished. They wished. They wished.
The biggest poison inside us is regret.
And all the excuses you tell yourself for those regrets, are just excuses.
If anybody ever did it, then you can do it too.
It’s that simple.
I see an empty bench
should I walk past ignoring
the old, familiar strange he is
or should I stay and
listen to the secrets
day after day
his shaky skeleton
patiently waits to comfort
the kind, interested and helpless,
while he tries to hold on
to his rusty skin,
leaving behind his mischievous nights
in past, his heavy eyes
invite people to approach
and share with him
memories, warm and cold,
letting them take a dip
in their daydreams
when they seek shelter
I used to have one such bench
at a place, I can still call home,
with whom I’d sit at night,
with people, but usually alone,
I’d take the batteries out my mysticism
and put them in my
to me, my bench was hope.
but what about that
arctic girl with folded arms
occupying the bench like
or the sunny guy turning autumn
as he walks by,
or the sweating guy still running
giving hope to life,
what does it mean to them?
I should find out.