Flotsam and then some.

It’s interesting how you choose something as a symbol that you are not losing and finally giving up on life. A blue bin-bag, some cardboard boxes, a dental appointment. Almost as if stopping moving would give the Angel of Death the cue.

It’s not the Grim Reaper we’re convincing. It’s ourselves. I am not a total wash-out if replacing soap in the bathroom or printing a curry recipe is still happening.

Like shipwrecked passengers in the ocean, we cling on to the quotidian flotsam and jetsam. Let me live. Let me live. Let me live.