We sit, our butts in our seats, staring at computer screens or tvs
Charts, graphs, scheming
On how one day we can live out our dreams
“I won’t be dong this forever,” We say.
“What do you do?” They ask.
“Oh, I’m just this,” or “I’m just that,” We say.
We wait for our degree, our promotion, our spouse, our kid
We wish for retirement or to have just enough to be secure enough to live freely
Eventually we all die, a terminal condition
That we avoid like the plague
I say “we” because that’s me, as well
I have forgotten what it’s like to live
Because I yearn for something more inspiring/life-giving to come
But all that ever comes is one day, one moment, one minute closer to death
Something to cry about, perhaps
Or something to allow us to be aware/present and maybe, just maybe
We can start to live