Recycle

His life was recycled, regugitated, redundant. You are all recycled as well, look closely at yourself and the days that you inhabit. It varied from day to day what he would recycle, which bins to put out on the curb. When he first met people it was almost always purely recycled goods that he would offer. Recycled conversations, favorite cartoons, comments on movies, he had said it all before but they didn't know that. they probably spewed the same recycled goods back at him. Recycled stories, that one time he was caught cutting school...people liked that one. There are stories you tell to make people fall in love with you, to make connections, the same tried and true regurgitations evoking feelings that you have evoked before. But what else could one do? You have to recycle otherwise you would just be making stuff up. Sift through your favorite stories, they all fit somewhere, ready for that perfect moment. Pull it out and place it into the circle, insert here for laugh, insert here for emotional connection, recycling based on his own experiences, it was normal right? Everything was not new and exciting, rehashing tales from the old days, you all recycle, you like to all get together and re-tell that one story that one that everyone laughs about, the inside jokes, the familiar endings. It's comfortable, it's constant, it's a moment of your life put on repeat, reliving the same event over and over, searching for that original feeling you had, trying to get away from the repetition of your days. Back then you waltzed through life now you tell people how you used to waltz. Stagnation a recycled theme, popping up in everything he wrote, complacency an overused word, pervading waking moments and polluting thoughts. Sitting in the shirt he always wore to go out, that same shirt that he thought made him look well put together, slipping on those shoes that he had walked in for years, down that same path. The same greeting to the same people at the same time each day, this is why people vacation he thought, to escape this daily cycle that was bleeding him dry. They vacation so the can grab more stories for them to recycle at their stale cocktail parties and evenings with the same neighbors. Replay the slide show, tell that one story about the hotel manager, tell the same people how you're kids are doing. Nothing is new, he said that same thing last week, while eating the same food and sitting in the same chair, does the cycle ever end, hamsters spinning the wheels until garbage day. When everything will be gathered and jumbled, destroyed and made into something new. But that's the same way it's always been.