It’s painful knowing not what to ask for and yet pitiful knowing that to ask for too much is all in vain. Pain and Pity are two friend that I don’t play very well with, yet they show up at my door frequently, soliciting my company. “Come out with us, you know that we’re knocking on the door of your destiny, yet you don’t answer”. Destiny…the femme that I knew well when young and as we grew up, we grew apart. Her friendship was always one of ambiguity. Not sure if the gift that was left at the foot of my bed of life came from Destiny or if Destiny declined the invitation to the party of my womanhood. T’would be such a present IN the present if Pain and Pity were to tear off their masks and reveal themselves as double the wonderful Destiny who I used to know so well. Now her graces only brush the memoirs of the little girl that I hold to my bust. No one will find you here. Hide your weary eyes and sleep for eternity for your task, little girl, is done. Let your soul go into that gentle good night and let the woman who holds you now complete the journey. Then there is LOVE. The ever changing face of Love who cannot for this life of mine remain the same. One day she’s full of curves wearing Joie de vivre as her brand from head to toe. Then the next time I see her, she’s a frail skeletal frame peeping into my window wearing nothing but the thin cloak of chagrin. Whether it’s by choice or not, I cannot tell. To decipher her attire choices would take more momentum than I have in my storehouse; full or empty, depends on the day, time, and what demands my attention. Desire…deep Desire, it’s time for you to rise from my lap. Let me stand in freedom, releasing my hips and thighs from your grasp. I’m not your matriarch and yet you suckle at my spirit like it was me who bore you and cast you to the masses for want. I have nothing to do with your origins or conclusion. Besides, I know not enough of your design to adopt you as my own. We are not alike and yet you cling to me as if your very existence were dependent on my embrace. Dear Desire…it’s time for you to go home now...Dear; Signed, Completely Satisfied. Again, it’s a shameful pity not to know what to ask for, and painful to understand that to ask for too much is all in vain.
