They told me it was the answer. That no matter what it would, “find a way.” Find a way? Heh. To disappear, maybe. Down to nothing but a speck of a crumb. “Find a way,” is something they say when they know it’s too late. All I can do now is watch it unravel, one thread at a time. But what’s time without worth? Perhaps it’s the sneakiest evil. Too much of it providing too little. Yet here I stand, holding onto nothing more than one lonely thread. It’s all I can do with the time we have left.
Photographed by Tyler Buschman
“Blacks and whites!” I told them. “Nothing more than blacks and whites…” And I was right. But so were they. Blacks and whites are clean. They’re simple. They’re safe. But I didn’t care. I saw color. I saw color and wanted to show them what they were missing. But they’d never seen color. You can’t know what you can’t see. So there I sat, selling cars to horsemen. Nothing more than an unwanted luxury. And I get it. I really do. But if you ever grow old of the blacks and the whites, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.