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.