Letting go of stories
On the old bench, by the old man.
Does he know what he means, or does he not know, or does he know what he should know, or is what he should know not knowledge but a hunch, a thought in the filled vacuum called the head, behind which hides a hard drive, oh, such a big hard drive, yes, and the hard drive is called the brain, and does his brain know what he should know, or does the hard drive have a glitch, a bug, is something wrong with the system, and from the original question of whether he knows what he means or doesn't know, so many questions arise, more and more questions, and the more questions there are, the fewer answers he knows, and what you don't know, you can't know, and what he doesn't know, he can't know, and what he can't know therefore never happened or occurred or is simply not his personal thing, because it is as it is, and as it is, it is good, but of course it can always be better, and at the same time, it can always be worse, and thoughts dart back and forth through his head and there is no stopping, no, no stopping, faster and faster and suddenly he feels sick, really sick, and then he just throws up and lets go, because everything that has to leave the body is a form of letting go, and he always wanted to let go, and now he just does it, swish, swish, gag, and vomit, and disgusting, and yuck.
There is a moon. There are dark clouds. There is a bench. A wooden bench. It has been standing here for over sixty years. It is a beautiful bench. A bench full of stories.
He lives off stories because stories are what make a person, and whenever he meets someone new, he doesn't know their stories yet, and yes, it takes work and patience for the stories to find their place in the present through gestures, facial expressions, and words, and once they are in the present, there is no turning back, then it goes on and on, faster and faster, and questions arise, so many questions, and the more questions there are, the fewer answers he knows And then the circle closes again and he starts over. Maybe not. Maybe it's a new beginning in speed. But no matter what it is, it is what it is, and he can only accept that and make the best of it or stop everything. But is that really an option? Probably not. Or maybe it is. No, it's not. And that's why it goes on and on, because when it goes on, it goes forward, and forward is better than backward or looking back, because those who look back forget to live, and living is important because you only live once, and since he only lives once, every day is special for him, and if every day is special, something that allows you to gain more experience and learn, then that's wonderful, and it goes on and on, faster and faster, and that's good, yes, that's very good.
There is a moon. There are dark clouds. There is a bench. A wooden bench. It has been standing here for over sixty years. It is a beautiful bench. An elderly man is sitting on the bench. He has been sitting on this bench for 60 years. A bench and a man who together can tell a story.
Sometimes, but only sometimes, but sometimes never, and sometimes very often, fate thwarts life's plans, and then it's important to act quickly and make the best of it, and sometimes, but only sometimes, but sometimes not, or sometimes very often, it works out wonderfully, because that's how life is, and when life is like that, you have no choice, he thinks, no, you have no choice, because no matter what is or will be, you have to remain flexible, and those who are flexible and don't hopes for the next disappointment, but simply for a new day in the unique life, will be happier in the end than some or many who only look back, because, as he says, those who look back forget to live, and what is the most important thing in life? Yes, exactly, to live, he thinks to himself.
There is a moon. There are dark clouds. There is a bench. A wooden bench. It has been standing here for over sixty years. It is a beautiful bench. There is no older man sitting on the bench. Instead, there is a young man. He has been sitting on this bench for six days. And when one life ends, another comes from somewhere else.