An ode to everything that once went wrong; A half-full glass of sparkling raised to toast the multiplication of your mistakes. “Congrats,” they speak, “You’ve made it this far.” A toast to commemorate everything you worked for that failed, everything you failed to work for, and everything that never was but you wished would be. A toast to bid farewell to holograms of pasts, and visions that used to make you well up in tears.
“You’ve made it this far” resonates through the every cell making up your consciousness.
“And this is what it was all for,” the archaic Emcee rambles on.
It was for cups of coffee in the morning to share in a wide bed, and that magnetic look of his eyes; for days filled with reverie and lived with synchronized footsteps marching through dactylic grounds, daydreaming of days to come, jumping from wave to wave, gliding from string to string, losing yourselves in the unquantifiable tapestry of could-be. All will be. It was for the piles of books that decorate your floor and around which you dance and laugh and sing and laugh some more. It was for the stories you sometimes spend evenings telling through laughter and hushed tones of a certain nostalgia, it was for you to understand that the meaning of the often overused four letter word comes with a feeling veneered with a deeper rhythm than that strange tingly sensation in your stomach on a warm summer night when his eyes met yours for the very first time.
“Go on, have a drink to it all!” And you abandon yourself in the distinct scent of everything that once went wrong.