Lope's Thoughts

Why are you laughing? Did my falling look beautiful from where you stood? Did the sound of my plans breaking make a pleasant little song inside your perfect afternoon? I watched you smile while my world tripped over its own feet. You laughed as if disaster were a comedy written especially for you. Perhaps you thought my tears were part of the entertainment. Perhaps you believed misfortune only visits people who deserve it. How strange. The rain fell through my roof and you laughed beneath yours. My cup broke in my hand and you laughed because you were holding a glass. My road disappeared and you stood beside the map pretending you had drawn it yourself. You pointed at my mistakes with such confidence. One finger. Then another. Soon your whole hand was conducting an orchestra of my failures. You spoke as if you had never stumbled. As if your feet had signed a contract with gravity. As if your life had never misplaced a single key. As if every decision you made had been approved by the g...

This morning, Life rang my doorbell wearing a hat made of Tuesday. I opened the door. “Why are you here?” “I'm bored,” it said. So I let it in. Big mistake. It drank my coffee, ate my last biscuit, and rearranged my problems alphabetically. My worries complained. Apparently, they don't like alphabetical order. Outside, a pigeon was arguing with the moon. The moon refused to apologize. The pigeon called a lawyer. I decided it was none of my business. Then I checked my plans for the day. They had disappeared. I found them hiding in the fridge between the milk and my forgotten ambitions. My biggest mistake was sitting on the kitchen counter, wearing sunglasses. “Don't look at me,” it said. “I wasn't.” “Yes, you were.” By afternoon, the sun had misplaced itself. The sky turned pink, the trees started whispering, and my shadow announced it was taking annual leave. “Where are you going?” “Somewhere without responsibilities.” “Can I come?” “No. You're my responsibility.” F...

 They call me crazy. I laugh and tell them, "Of course I am, sanity packed its bags years ago and left no forwarding address." They laugh with me. That is the trick. If I make the joke first, no one notices the cracks beneath the punchline. My mind is a carnival at midnight, lights flickering, music playing out of tune, ghosts riding the Ferris wheel of old memories. Yet I smile. Because laughter is cheaper than therapy and easier than explaining why some nights feel heavier than mountains. I joke about my misfortunes. I shake hands with disaster. I invite heartbreak to sit beside me at the bar and buy it a drink. "What now?" I ask. And heartbreak laughs, because it knows I will turn it into a story. That is how I survive. Not with courage. Not with strength. But with absurdity. With ridiculous thoughts that dance through the darkness wearing oversized shoes. The world expects tears. I hand it a grin instead. The world expects collapse. I perform a comedy routine on...

There once was a genius renowned, For thoughts that were tightly wound, He could map every star, Name planets afar, Yet tripped on completely flat ground. He’d lecture on time with a grin, Explain where the universe’s been, With charts so precise They’d make ice feel like spice. Then forget what room he was in. His lab was a marvel of mess, Organized chaos at best, With wires and notes, Half-written quotes, And a sandwich mid-experiment test. “Behold!” he would proudly declare, Adjusting his lab-coated flair, “This device that I’ve made Will not… well, it  may... But mostly it shouldn’t catch fire there.” He’d flip a switch labeled “DO NOT,” Then say, “Let us see what we’ve got,” A rumble, a flash, A scientifically loud crash. “Ah,” he’d say, “that was  planned , oddly not.” A toaster once gained self-awareness, And spoke with alarming self-fairness, “Your logic is weak, Your wiring is bleak.” It said with mechanical rareness. He nodded. “Fascinating tone.” Then tried to impro...