And if this is the price I have to pay for letting you go, then I deserve it. But I am poor and I cannot afford it. You see, last night I had a penny, I had it in my right hand pocket, but it's gone now. It's gone, and I am poor. Just like that woman who I blindly assume is old because she cannot afford to look any younger, the same one I see every day, outside Sainsbury's, sitting next to the one pound trolley filled with useless crap she accumulated throughout the years, guarding it as if it was the most precious possession a human being could ever have.
And it's bone chilling cold outside, and she has never managed to sell that one over abused copy of National Geographic, but sometimes, when I'm not too busy wasting time on my overpriced smartphone (which, as it turns out, is not smart at all), I see her attempt to smile. And sometimes, I see myself attempting to smile back. And for that one second, I forget all the reasons why I chose to doom my day to hell this morning. Because now that I think about it, hell is not about waiting for something for an excruciatingly amount of time. Hell is not this.
Hell is watching people pass you by and ignoring you. Hell is going through the trash so you could fish out stale bread thrown away by big men in black suits. Hell is sleeping outside, come rain or come shine. Hell is having to wear the same dirty clothes over and over again. Hell is not knowing what central heating feels like. Hell is not having a place to call home.
No, hell is not this, and yes, I miss you, and the price I have to pay for letting you go is high, but I am not poor. We are not poor. We are ordinary people embellished with rough diamonds we are afraid to cut.
And it's bone chilling cold outside, and she has never managed to sell that one over abused copy of National Geographic, but sometimes, when I'm not too busy wasting time on my overpriced smartphone (which, as it turns out, is not smart at all), I see her attempt to smile. And sometimes, I see myself attempting to smile back. And for that one second, I forget all the reasons why I chose to doom my day to hell this morning. Because now that I think about it, hell is not about waiting for something for an excruciatingly amount of time. Hell is not this.
Hell is watching people pass you by and ignoring you. Hell is going through the trash so you could fish out stale bread thrown away by big men in black suits. Hell is sleeping outside, come rain or come shine. Hell is having to wear the same dirty clothes over and over again. Hell is not knowing what central heating feels like. Hell is not having a place to call home.
No, hell is not this, and yes, I miss you, and the price I have to pay for letting you go is high, but I am not poor. We are not poor. We are ordinary people embellished with rough diamonds we are afraid to cut.