August 23, 2016
A year ago we buried Mom. A butterfly appeared and landed on the wreath while my cousin read my poem. The butterfly flew away before the poem ended. The beautiful butterfly flew off into the perfect blue sky. Well, Mom, I have grown up. I’m a man now. I’m sorry that it took forty-seven years to do so. I will continue to grow and move forward. No book yet. Maybe someday, Mom.
I don’t understand why I’m still here. I have queried thirty agents and publishers for my memoir. Probably get no. Nothing new on the first book. Maybe it’s time to try something else. I just don’t know what I want anymore. Yes, I know that it will happen, I guess. I want to make a difference and I know that I can and will. Life feels meaningless. I see Danny and wonder if I will be like him. No girlfriend. Just eat and sleep. I sit on the pier and wonder why I’m still here. Who am I? What is my purpose? Life is worth it sometimes. I want and need more. I might not use the communication device. I will hang around.