A story: "Poetry"

What if I'm brave today?
What if I quit my job?
What if I confess?
What if I take a chance?

What if I'm reciprocated?
What if I'm not?
What if I jump today?
What if I end my life?

What if I smile at a stranger?
What if I cry my insides out?
What if I'm brave today?
What if I die? 

And if I live?
What if I don't like the consequences?
What if there are no consequence?
What if all this is a revolution in a vacuum?
What if I'm really just stupid?

What if I do nothing?
What if I find happiness, here; right here?
What if I cower?
What if I smile at the end of it all?

What if I'm brave?
What if…?
I'm brave.

He writes this in an old notebook. The "poetry" of a pathetic old soul, unsure of whether he's in love or he's finally truly crossed over into mental illness. Is this what aging does to people? You see a flower and it's not even a particularly beautiful flower but you assume it was put there for you, that it was meant for you to notice it, that spring is quickly slipping away and you better embrace this one last remnant of what you felt when you were young and powerful. You see a table in a store and you feel the same sequence of emotions: my life isn't complete until this table enters my life, my house, my sphere. In time the table sits under a bunch of all your unsolved problems, debts to pay, crumbs of the last things you consumed without a thought. You introduced yet another piece of furniture you'd just walk past again, ignore, use, stub your toe on occasionally - and then, only then, with the pain do you remember that, yes, it was once a beautiful tree too. Eventually you forget (or ignore) that you'll do the same with your flower. You will walk past it and notice its withered leaves and petals; it'll have shed its soul for you. For you who ripped it away from its ecosystem where at least it's life and death at least contributed to the universe. You really thought your life, your love, your eyes were worth more than the universe?... You think all these thoughts and say to yourself: my life really is meaningless.