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Writer's pictureTomás Tedesco

Eulogy to a Wasted Life


The credit goes to every unsent text, to every minute wasted on your phone, to every wank you ever had, to every argument, to every reaction. The credit for the unlived life goes to resentment, to the ever-piling weight of regret. 


The credit for your unfulfilled dreams goes to every negative belief, every moment of comfortable inaction, and every moment of anxious doubt and self-inflicted emotional torture. 


I credit your frowned shoulders to your lack of faith and internalized criticism from others. 


The credit for a life filled with regretty-baggetty goes to paralysis, screwing your spine into the bed, sinking your hips into disrepair. The credit goes to your lethargic heart and your unchallenged lungs, but more than anything, the credit goes to your unrealistic expectations, your lack of self-love, and your uncanny talent for dehumanizing yourself. 


The credit goes to not stepping back from what Hinduism calls the Maya, the Illusion. And also for not paying attention.


We must give credit where credit is due, after over-drafting your negative emotions, and filling a claim for moral bankruptcy, the solution becomes quite simple. 


Listen to the voices until you hear the silence, put one foot in front of the other, and act.

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