Alright so maybe it should be “To hear a tree fall in the forest, all you have to be is there.” And maybe I will be alive long enough to not only grow, but to degrade.
There exists a series of shelved cans in your psyche. Apparent or not. Cans you haven’t opened. The ones you have opened, whether in perusing for a new flavor, or out of desperate need, stay open. Pandora’s beans if you will.

I’m sure you know a few you haven’t opened. Best exemplified by that party game cliche to high schooler movies. Put a finger down if you have… insert crossed line. The game is fun! Our hungers and peculiarities vary so, even amongst close friends and siblings.

Its not a game you’d play with your mother.

But it is one you play with yourself and everyone around you. All the time.

The person dumpster diving at the park, drawing cautious looks from passers by, has probably opened a few cans that you have not. What is worrisome, is that such cans are available to you. All cans are. Some, such as personal injury or death of a parent just fall off the shelf and shatter open on their unfortunate own. Some cans can be thrust upon you. However, most cans must be manually opened.

Some with fun easy-open pop tabs. Some you have to grind against pavement until the lip is sanded away allowing the contents to spill messily on the driveway. Go on, finger slop that goodness up. You’ve earned it after so long.

I’ve opened plenty of cans I wish I hadn’t. Haven’t we all. I’ve opened cans just to see whats inside. Pouring the contents down the drain, or just toss the whole lot in the bin. I have half eaten cans. I have, dip a finger in just a taste cans. They remain on the shelf of course. But they also remain open.

Botulism. It exists not on this metaphysical shelf of self. Though some rot, other not. Other horrible mistake cans remain open and in time they smell so sweet. Are they worth another taste?

Cancer is a can. Heroine. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Infidelity. Marriage. High income. Low income. No income. A fight. A spat. Skiing. Buying a home. Travel. Sushi. Prescription drug abuse. Saying that one thing to that one person you can never take back.

Wishing you had said that one thing to that one person, a can you didn’t open. But there it is. To taunt you.

I can feel that some cans have become, more, available to me recently. Good and bad. Others have been shelved more out of reach than ever.

Death be the final can I suppose. As far as we know. As far as this weak life analogy can go. May it be shelved many years away still.

I’m both hungry and full. I’m tired of the same old shit every day. But I’m scared of the new. Rightfully so. Will the next can be a cure? Or poison?

I hope its Bushes.