Chronicle of Desperation : 4

 

To my friend, Patience,

 

Ah! The eternal blooming bud, painted in lacquer. You would blossom into a man most definitely, should you ever take initiative to actually ripen and mature. The things that you have grown from include pain, pleasure and solace. Yet you do not bloom!

Have I not fed you, nourished you to the point of self starvation?  All my questions are the result of your laziness. I learn to please you, to resonate on freezing notes that encircle this life of mine.

Of all the things that encompass my desperation, you will be the most remembered because you never existed. You are abstract; in jig-saw pieces swirling and clicking together in my stomach. You are the piece that has been forgotten and eradicated from the light of day. Because you never surfaced for me or anyone else, you will be legendary.

I’m a pot of soil for the most villainous plant that ever existed. The seed of patience.

 

Your friend,

Anonymous.