Picasso, like the artist

At the bottom of a well, I was scared. It was dark. I cried out for help. I needed someone to pull me out of this prison of woe, a cavern of despair. A hand reached out, like a righteous savior, who would always be there for me. It was you. When we were dating, I always told her about that recurring dream I had. I knew it was her hand in the dream. She was perfect, like a sunrise in human form. Soon I found she had quite the influence over my personality. I became a generally happier, and even kinder person. Like I was slowly trying to copy her just to be that much closer to her. I wanted to understand what made her presence so uplifting, her laughter so contagious, and her outlook, ever so optimistic.  “I think it would be better to just be friends.” The text message that locked into my memory. The message I didn’t open in hopes it would go away. After that day, the dream stopped coming to me. Instead I was living it, but this time there was no one reaching out. I’d still see her,...

I never liked going for the easy picks, the 4 or 2 to 1’s. The way I saw it was, since I don’t have much to spend, I figure it’s more worth it to bet on the 25’s or 27’s, since it would be more payout, even though I could only put so much in. After all, someone has to root for the little guy. The race is starting. The jockey on my 24/1 horse firmly plants themselves on the determined steed. With a fire in its eyes, the majestic beast gets a good leap at the start, galloping ahead of the 16/1 and the 12/1. The creature is proud, but still maintains laser focus on the finish line. The stallion channels a pure evolutionary instinct to run, never thinking of stopping. Even from so far away, he could feel the impact of the ribbon at the finish line, his sheer willpower slicing through it like a machete. 4th place. The walk home lost the sense of shame it once had after a lost race. The impact of the disappointment is now more or less equivalent to spilling water on myself in the car or find...