I want to be the best at something, a definitive example for everyone else.
I want my name laser-cut in gold and plastered on an oak block to be hung in a long marble hallway.
The Best
I imagine glittering metallic trophy shelves. Statues arranged in perfect rows, frozen in time; forever a testament to perfection.
Maybe I'd name them. Say hello and wish them goodnight.
"we love you," they'd say, "tell us a story, please?"
It's not me though, really. That perfection stuff is so glossy.
It's the neighbors' lawn.
A Martha Stewart Pie.
My shelves are filled with books. novels and reference. How to's and why do's.
My shelves are filled with honorable mentions and thanks for participatings.
They are full, and yet, not so much.
