As black people, we’ve lost some amazing storytellers and we’ll continue to lose more. They have given us all the wisdom they could give and it saddens me that that the generations before us fought so hard only for their words to still be as relevant and necessary today as they were when they were written.

my stomach is nauseous as my heart flutters. it’s finally my turn. there’s only one piece left and it’s all for me. as i walk away from the devastated and hungry, i notice that i’m the only one left with a slice. everyone ahead of me ate their slices. cake, while delicious, isn’t filling. they’re still hungry. eyes watch me closely. their eyes filled with bloodlust. i’m frodo with the ring, aladdin with the lamp, or the man with the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm. one is not like the other but all are priceless. i’m less nervous now than when i was waiting in line.

last week i watched jon stewart tearfully address a congress committee that decides if first responders from 9/11 are entitled to healthcare, amongst other necessities. “these men and women are running out of their most precious resource, time.” some of those men and women are suffering from illnesses that can’t be healed. some took that trip to washington to ensure that their children and spouses are taken care of after they’re gone. don’t tell me time is merely a construct. time feels tangible when you’re running out of it.

i hate my job. it represents everything i loathe about the world. i’m in the retail world, unfortunately. most of my shift involves me begging God to save me. this can’t be my existence. during a mid-day rush i zone out. meaningless tasks are completed in a zombie like trance until its time for me to go. i’m in an emotionally numb state until i cross that threshold to freedom. my face remains blank for most of my day. i fake smiles and laughs just so people will leave me alone with my thoughts.