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.