That was his goal in life.
He wanted to drown his sorrows in old, crinkled paper,
Tokens of exchange that had been touched by hundreds before him,
In the same despondent way.
He wanted the paper to dissolve into his bloodstream,
It would sustain him, it would distract him,
But little did he know that it would destroy him.
The paper might have been able to get him a nice house, and perhaps a nice car and a pretty wife,
Holidays, parties, escapism from the tedium of life,
But it would not buy him happiness- just a sad illusion of it,
A holographic representation that disperses as soon as you attempt to touch it,
It is not real.
He feels his success will grow based on the expensive things he owns,
But price tags will never compare to watching the stars, with hope in his eyes,
surrounded by the people who love him.
No, such things could not compare to the old, crinkled paper
That had filled his mind, and then his pockets, and then his blood, and then his life,
And then he drowned in it.
Sadia Ahmed, 2016