This wasn't the way I wanted to feel or be. There wasn't a way that I could believe in me. There wasn't...
Last Saturday, I woke up at 7 in the morning To finish reading the book, "Everything Matters!" By Ron Currie Jr. in my bathroom And when I arrived at the climax And the ominous narrator postulated its theorem On the importance of everything, And how it matters not in spite but because it ends, I broke down and cried on the toilet, And I thought about chance, And how I picked up this book on a whim, And I thought about time And how it's a book, A collection of words Arranged to form a sentence, And a collection of sentences Arranged to form a paragraph And etc., etc., until you get to a chapter And no matter how many times You finish your favorite book, You can still revisit your favorite chapters, Getting lost in the lines that you love, And how your favorite sentence Can feel like its own novel, And how it feels like I've been talking for hours When it's only been one minute, And how this poem is just one run-on sentence, Severed and skewed to invent one stanza And even if we put it back together, It will be just one, and still end, and still matter Because everything matters.