L asked her on Saturday morning
Between Costa coffees and intermittent rain sprees
What she wanted from life
(Her Goals with a capital g for the taking)
.
As they trudged through the park’s swamp-like green
She said how she’d sent her mortgage-length memorandums
Those manicured manuscripts written by a signatory
Who had only experienced life in theory
To the bombfire
(She was expecting a subpoena from her 8 year old self any day now)
.
I. Don’t. Know.
A strange liberty uttered from her lips
Reaching the tips of L’s ear drums
You don’t know?
(L’s eyes made an ‘aren’t you a bit too old to be this lost’ shape)
.
Silence joined them for the rest of the walk home
‘Til they reached her door
Key still in the lock, she turned to L and said
Perhaps it’s not what I want FROM life
But HOW I want to live
And how’s that? asked L.