It’s no fun doing bucket lists with Marcus, especially faced with the blinking arrogance of a decade old document that seems to have a sour point to make. He’s already smiling as I drag ’14. Explore Isfahan’ three places up, just below ’10. Read Crime and Punishment’ He watches as I stop at ‘1. Change the world, just a little’ before backspacing it one character at a time into a clear white reality.
When did you figure out it couldn’t be done? He is laughing out loud now. I don’t tell him how time corrodes passion and confidence, leaving a patina of coarse cynicism that is then labelled as common sense. You don’t start stuff like this with someone who thinks making a list means setting yourself up for failure. Better to live in the moment, give it your best shot and savour the rewards.
You’re too scared to hope Marcus. Because then you don’t ever have to be disappointed.
Don’t knock it. It’s a much easier without the shackle of false expectation. More real.
How about if you had just one more day to live Marcus, surely there are things you would want to get done?
The same as every other day – regret is the indulgence of the living. What if you actually check every single item off your list, will that make you a happier dead person?
I shrug. This is another tangled thread and he’s piqued now.
He looks at my list. The first line still empty. Waiting. Where do you think you’ll be on your last day?
I don’t know Marcus. Probably out, changing the world. One character at a time.
the morning sun frowns
the stormy night has ruined his garden