Feeding The Habit

"I will go in this Way, Oh but I will find my own way out." -Dave Matthews

Thursday, August 26, 2004

I'll Make it up.

My mother tells me I will be late for my own funeral. It’s unoriginal, but she’s probably right. I see the thousands that will be there. Some that knew me well, and each holding back their own tear.
The march slowly down the aisle would begin, couples hand in hand. Those alone would already have found each other—
Shared in the comfort. Touched one another. It would look like a massive group wedding in Vegas. A few elderly couples; dignified, unhesitant. The rest dripping in sleaze, unsure what they might do next. Or after.

And they would march slowly down towards the coffin. That centerpiece. Wanting just one more glimpse. Then a shriek, an old lady faints. Everyone rushes around to stare and scream in horror at the empty coffin. Someone had stolen their love!

There would be rumors, sure, that I was Jesus. There always are. They’d wait for me to return, to share again.

I’d be sitting at home though, thinking, “Fuck, I’m supposed to be somewhere.” It wouldn’t be a good situation.

Much more serious than being late for work. I'm not worried about that today. Especially since it was so worth it.