Pete,
What would you propose that I do?
Snap my credit card in half, and set out onto the open road? I suppose the birds will be singing too, and I will walk into the sunset, my footsteps steady and sure on the path to self discovery and eternal happiness.
But we don't do that. We don't, because we have to stay. We are weighed down by the things we own, and the people we love, and the things we commit ourselves to. Why do we do it? Perhaps to assure ourselves that things are the way they are and will remain so, as long as we remain too? Or maybe because we strive for the sense of security that accompanies knowing that tomorrow is almost certain to come, and knowing what to expect?
I suppose I shouldn't be asking you this at all. You seem to be the only exception to this apparently fundamental rule about how we are (and how we were, and how we always will be.)
I wrote the other day. I was writing my grocery list, and it turned into a short poem about materialism. It was shit.
Yours sincerely,
Jan
YOU ARE READING
Re: Pete
Short Story❝Roses have thorns, my dear, but so do you. ❞ In which Jan falls into an existential crisis, and Pete is there for her, if only in the form of words on her screen.
