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Here’s what you say, by Britta Benson

Oh, I’m in full blown ranting mode today, can’t even say why. Sometimes it simply feels good to do so. Here goes.

Here’s what you say

Here’s what you say.

Life’s not fair.

And in case that’s not clear,

you go through your list of complaints:

Something sweet, you say,

like your hand in mine, swinging wildly until our palms get dizzy and have to go their separate ways again.

Something salty, you say,

like peanuts on an aeroplane, when you’re not quite sure you’ll make it in time to say goodbye and your heart starts growing a crust.

Something bitter, you say,

like the aftertaste of disappointment in the thousand little things you never said and they still turned into sharp daggers,who would have thought?

Something sour, you say,

like lumps of lemon in your tea, they don’t belong, ever, and spoil a good hot drink, after all, you hate all surprises and people should know that.

Why can’t life taste all fresh and minty, you ask in the end?

Here’s what I say.

Let me tell you why.

Because life’s not a bloody toothpaste,

not a product, that’s always the same,

and patiently waiting for you on a shelf.

If you want cinnamon, you’ve got to taste the rot.

Easy sweetness lies on the tip of your tongue.

The interesting stuff happens elsewhere.


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