Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

I’ve learned my allotment in life. It took several years of trial and error, but I’ve learned what I was put on this Earth to do – what would be lost should I be lost too.

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Have you seen me in the streets?

‎Did you step on my back when you were on your way to work?

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Isn’t there more to the day-to-day travails than making that day turn night? As soon as nuance shows up into the equation, once there comes a transformation from the mundanity that is the collar I wear, I’m forgotten again.‎

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I’m a plaything for how one makes conceptualization of the inutile.

And I’m most useful as a callback to simpler times.

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God, please, I want so badly rid from the constant conversations about the past. It’s all I ever talk about anymore. The only thing people ever talk with me about anymore is what we used to be.

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How do I break it to them that sometimes, someone stays the lowest common denominator?

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Have you seen me in the streets?

Did you step on my back when you were on your way to work?

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To them, I’m this relic, this point of reference for how far they’ve come.

And at some point, you just need to play their game.

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When you can’t win, pity is the best you can get.