Crushed, is how I feel as I pick a hardened contact lens up from the bathroom counter. No matter how much I rub fake tears along its surface, it won’t relax from its state of rigor mortis. I grumble as I slip on a t-shirt and feel like this represents something larger in the grander sense of things.

The anxiety I feel as I pick lint off of a black t-shirt is so tangible, it makes me uncomfortable. White specks float in a sea of pure untouched black. From where did they all come? Wouldn’t you attach yourself to something larger than yourself if you knew it would take you to better places with better people with more expensive conversation?

The new contact lens cooperates but the disappointment is still fresh. I feel like there might be a black world out there with a high and mighty deity in charge of all of this, controlling what’s new and what’s old, telling me where to get off and what to stick in my eye. I feel like I might be that white speck that’s getting too big for its britches, clinging to something larger and grander than it’s accustom to.