Carrot

I find old lists in half-used life planners. Sometimes there’s a satisfaction in recognising that I did do a second degree, bought a Saab convertible, went to art college and writers' residencies. I live abroad again, I finally have a blue velvet sofa. I’m going to keep writing the lists of longing. Longing motivates me. I’m such a try-hard. And then there are the things that didn’t come to fruition. Still or Yet. I have a sense that love is the reward for my effort, like there's an imaginary carrot dangled constantly, “just do this and then you’ll have that,” pact. A husband in waiting, in this life or the next? A book deal. Inner peace. Romance in Venice. They’ve been in the God Box for years.