Paper Bag Ballet

The gunshot was monotonous. Eventual. Completely unaware, I jumped. Completely awakened, my heartbeat stopped for a microsecond. Completely contempt, my father slumped down onto the table, eyes open – completely awakened.

It's only a paper bag, you know.

What was the point. The point was beauty. The point was cause and effect. The point was inevitable. The point was beautiful. Why did it not seem this clear before. Eyes open – the point was beauty. Eyes open to see the beauty.

It's only a paper bag, you know.

Someone once said to me that life is made up of moments. Life is made up of two moments – your birth, and your eventual death. The part in the middle is called the bit that you'll probably fuck up. Two moments. One might come sooner than you expect. Maybe it will come as a surprise. Maybe it will come as a savior.

It's only a paper bag, you know.

The emotions felt after a death are the most beautiful ballet. Guilt dances a slow adage with hurt. Fear dances a quick allegro with worry. Sadness waltzes on its own at the back of the stage. Then when it is time for sadness' great solo…

It's only a paper bag, you know.

Cause and effect. Cause and effect. Beauty and dance. Beauty and dance. What was the point. The point was beauty. The point was cause and effect. The point was ballet…

Paper bag ballet.