It is an old trick. If you cannot talk about this, elaborate on that. Ventriloquize.

“See, when it comes to it, going on living is the easier of the two options.”

What do you need to carry on except inertia?  Anything to continue. To survive is all, to carry on. And when exhausted, a ghost, a shell, you mark attendance. To be there, at least. Graffiti. I was here. When the road forks, you fork too. Make a scion of yourself, a could-be, give it to the wind. Take this offering. Then what is left carries on.

But for some others, to carry on is amputation of personhood, a slow stifling of soul itself. Because you’ve lost so much stuffing at each divergence, bit by bit you crumple. The breeze carries bits of you, strawman, and one day a sudden gust of wind marks where you’ve gone.

I suppose the bravery here would be to resist the great temptation to be whole and go completely, one way or another, not to distribute yourself. For it is so very tempting to plunge in, and hey voilà, you are renewed, all in. But then, it takes less and less for the less that is left to carry on. Chop-chop, chop oneself. Little shavings along the way into Hansel and Gretel’s forest. And there isn’t any way out, only back. But the breeze has carried off bits of you and one day you crumple. Strawman.

Either way, it takes much to break loose.

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