How I'm Gonna Live Forever

A good portion of my life has been behind the wheel
Passing mailboxes
Occasionally opening their contents and
Sifting through the sentiments of words not addressed to me
Myself, and I
am no saint.

It would also be important to mention
I’m blind.

Too blind to see what I’m reading,
so I simply run my fingers across the dried ink.

It’s beautiful,
The permanence of written words,
The impermanence of our own lives,
The thoughts we leave like loose-leaf lyrics.

It might also be important to mention
I wasn’t always blind.

When I was younger
I would bike through town,
stopping when I saw a real dolled up box,
y’know, the kind that takes over all your vision
till ironically you cant see nothing else.

I’d tear through that mail.
Taxes mostly, but every now and then,
You’d find a letter, and see those words
Meant to last longer than the stars themselves
And just think
Amazing,
How much someone will leave of themselves
in another person’s world,
trusting, that no ones gonna come around to
snatch it up.

But, its like they say, if you take too much
One way or another
you’re gonna have to give it back.

Doctors said I’d contracted some sort of bacteria,
Most likely from the molded interiors of some of those boxes,
(they aint always as pretty on the inside) and that,
those stained insides sealed my lids and caused me to lose sight.

It’s been some years since I lost my vision.
I’ve read a lot of mail since but haven’t seen a damn thing,
But rubbing my fingers across that ink,
I remember what it’s like to see the world and its words.

It might be important to mention
how this all ends.

Well, sometime in the future
I’m going to give all of myself in dried ink
To some pretty little thing whose gonna take it,
Smash in my mailbox, and leave me blind and empty.

I will have built up so many tears that my eyes,
like floodgates,
will burst open,
and I’ll see.

In the future I’ll tell my story to people
and they’ll ask,
“Hows that medically possible?”
“Why not just email?” and
“Who the fuck lets a blind man drive?”

It doesn’t matter none.

It’s like they say, if you take too much
One way or another
you’re gonna have to give it back.

I’ve taken your time,
so I’ll give you my two cents.

Don’t go sneaking into someone else’s mailbox
‘less you plan on leaving a piece of yourself there.

How I'm Gonna Live Forever

Tom Krantz

Brooklyn, United States

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