Why me?

There’s a question burning in your mind. You struggle to keep it there. You clench your teeth during the day, but it sneaks out in the small hours of the night.

“Why me?“

​You ask once more but the walls remain stubbornly silent. They share no answers.

“Why me?”

​You skim through books and titles and tables of contents. Nothing, no answer.​

“Why me?”

There’s a bottle on the bookshelf. You pour a glass, irritate the stomach. Light a cigarette. Inhale junk food.​

“Why me?”

Fire up Netflix. Two seasons and 20 episodes later, there’s no answer.​

“Why me?”

Worship money. Watch the number in your bank account multiply. Still, no answer.

“Why me?”

Stack purchases on the credit card. Package after package after package. You crave more stuff.

“Why me?”

Tuck your belly. Inject botox. Do a breast job. Cherish the latest and greatest fashion. It all remains mute when you ask the question.

“Why me?”

The pandemic goes on forever, buzzing around your head like a swarm of bees, stretching like melted cheese.​

“Why me?”

There’s a mirror in your apartment. Look at it, look at the face there. Recognize it. Wave. It will wave back. It will ask the same question.

“Why me?”

There are other people in other apartments looking at other mirrors, wondering the same thing.

“Why the fuck did it have to happen to me?”

Slow down. Whatever’s happening to you, it’s not a good question. The universe doesn’t revolve around you. Things don’t happen to you.

They just happen.