The Me I'm Meant to Be
The Me I'm Meant to Be "I'll never be that me again," claims the ground. It makes the statement in tones of white, its intent clear: the cigarette butt indicating it to the right. This despite the stains on the statement and around it, and its dubious, dirty appearance. Who knows how many people have walked over it, not seeing it or taking it for granted. But you notice it. You stop, pointing your shoes at it–pondering it. "Which me is it referring to?" you wonder. "Which me do I want to leave behind?" Your mind is suddenly not responding. Your cells are running into each other, trying to come up with a solution. You try to see past the oil marks and spoiled cement spots. You feel like the message is meant for you, but you're not tuned into it. Your feet patter away: Ka-clump, ka-clump. Your steps are dissonant yet regular, melding into the sounds around it. Ka-clump, ka-clump. If you clink loud enough you can keep your thoughts at bay. ...