“Guts have to go for the long haul. Curiosity’s like a fun friend you can’t really trust. It turns you on and then it leaves you to make it on your own – with whatever guts you can muster.” -Haruki Murakami
Are you drinking right now darling?
She would ask me when the sun was covered by bolt stricken clouds. I would have two fingers of Whiskey poured in front of me. It was three fingers full, but I hate odd numbers.
That little digit still filled me with an unwanted amount of inquisitiveness.
Please forgive me for being aimless but it was one thing I could never erase. It would stick to me like a vaporized bird, feathers clogging my windpipe with its tethered cord.
“Have you got guts?”
“How about curiosity?”
It would pester me
“Where there’s guts there’s curiosity, and where there’s guts there’s curiosity.”
It echoed to me
The words would rehash themselves into my cells until it felt as if it was the only thing I could taste, the only words that I could touch. It was a simple repetition, but the words engraved themselves on me like those same chains you had shackled around my ankles.
It felt as if I was a dramatists of these stories, you see, but I don’t think you see. Peel your eyelids back and watch how the world fades from black to design those robust little chronicles. Hidden messages inside of those little passages encased behind amber irises.
How scarily that realization was when it dawned on me
Even so, I realized that I trusted curiosity even if it did kill that cat