Saturday, October 13, 2012

post-war spoils

I wrote a few weeks about Hope. I was right about its power over me. About its inevitable invasion, its inevitable defeat. At the final moment before it bursts through my last line of defense and into the final chamber, I always have this epiphany, that what I had gambled on winning was rarer than I had realized. I think the rarity is what what drew me to the cards table in the first place. Deep down we all know the exact chances of these lotteries, but deep down we also know our uniqueness better than anyone else, and we think we deserve these prizes. Sometimes I think there's too much deserving in this world and not enough things to be deserved.

So we carry this consolation prize with us as we hand over the white flag. A second-tier product of Hope, cheap and empty, with a reassurance of quality trusted by neither the buyer nor the seller. The bitterness in the war-ravaged room thickens the air, so much so every air particle is forced to stand still. Maybe the bitterness is petty. But armed with the inadequacy of the consolation prize, I must make up for the difference somehow. And bitterness, regardless of its origin, always repairs my pierced armor better than anything else.

**

No comments: