If inanimate objects could talk:
My bed would love me, but it would tell me to visit it more and stop inviting other friends like laptop.
My car would unfriend me on Facebook and formally complain that: I don’t take good enough care of it, I sing off tune 100% of the time and that I should stop telling him the truth and instead tell the people who should hear it.
My bank account would tell me I am not invited to her birthday party.
My journal would confess that she misses me, and that she wishes I had something good to tell her so now and then.
My laptop would tell me to get out of his room and shut off the lights so he can finally go to sleep and try to shut down.
My books would beg me to visit them again and pay them the attention they deserve.
My toothbrush would tell me to stop forgetting what he looks like and that it feels like I am cheating on him with that pink Colgate girl.
My keys would exclaim that if I lose them one more time they will personally break themselves in half because I don’t even deserve to open doors.
My phone would tell me that no matter how many text messages or likes or notifications I get, it won’t make me happier. It won’t ever be the thing that wakes me up in the morning knowing it will be a good day, an important day. He would tell me not to wait, but to live, breathe, daydream, -heck- nightdream while you’re at it. He would tell me that he will come and go, just like sunlight and air and laughter and love and joy and heartache and raindrops and kisses and smiles. But he would tell me if anything, to give up on him. To secede him in order to preserve the others. That they have more they can give me.
I think if inanimate objects could talk they would know more secrets than we do ourselves. I think they would tell us the truth behind a person. They would tell us the truth behind a person because we aren’t afraid to tell them or show them what the secret meandering thoughts looming in our minds really are. We aren’t afraid to undress our secrets to them. What do they care, they can’t judge us, tell on us, spoil us, criticize us. All they are, are meager objects. But if they could talk, oh then maybe they would know me best of all.
I think if inanimate objects could talk they would tell us we can trust them, and that maybe sometimes we place too much worth on them. They would tell us they aren’t as important as we think they are. That one day, when our breaths are short, and our hair whispy grey, that our thoughts won’t dart to them, but to the experiences we had with them, on them, near them, because of them. They would tell us they are just the backdrop for our real lives. Our real lives, our big lives, our true lives.