Love Letter to Chaos

Chaos.


It doesn't matter what time I leave for work.  I will be stuck in traffic.

It doesn't matter.

There's traffic.

Everything that can go wrong seemingly goes wrong.

It doesn't matter.

Chaos.

Some ill informed people with conspiracy theories of their own.  THEY say "mysterious", "an enigma", manufactured ideas born of their own insecurities.  THEY are always stuck in traffic.

The mind's traffic.

I am not wrapped in yellow crime tape.  I am not on display at the Museum of Broken Hearts.

I am neither good nor bad.

It doesn't matter.

A man's character is his fate.

As much as I would like to believe that good things happen to good people.  As much as I would like to wrap my arms around a faith centered in karma. I know better.

Things just happen.   They don't discriminate.

Ask an old best friend.  If he could still talk.  He should be changing the world.  Instead, he threw the world into chaos.  My world.  Their world.

It doesn't matter.

I'm not a victim.  Really.  There are no victims.  We are victims to a word that should have never been invented.

I have a new friend.  He is aching for a woman.  Someone specific.

Aching.  My world is aching.  I've got a headache from the chaos.  The traffic in my mind.  I've got heartache because I feel incomplete.  Without you.

My new friend wants to dip his toes into the ocean.

It doesn't matter.

It hurts with her or without her.  Eventually.  So, I am encouraging him to throw caution to the wind.

Today, my new friend lost the nerve.

"You have tomorrow, my friend."  And now I am hearing myself sound like them.  I'm a cliche away from unraveling.

It doesn't matter.

Take your sense of entitlement.  Believe I owe you a piece of me.

It doesn't matter.

My heart is on my sleeve.  It always has been.  I'm not wrapped in yellow crime tape.  I am not unapproachable.

But you.  You are loved.

And I am loved.

And I am feeling so inadequate.  I'm not enough.  I'm stuck in traffic.

Yet, I am the only one on the road.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing really matters.  Maybe, just you and I.

Life will play itself out.  With or without effort.  With or without risk. 

And I love you.

Chaos.