The Envious Collector

The handbag was designer, the hat was early french twenties, everybody envied the collector. Why are you showing me these things, to remind me of other days, to depress or upset me, don’t you realize the gap between those that have and those that don’t. To the collector, it’s not pride, it’s not power, there is something else afoot. It’s called loneliness, and she hides it behind the things she buys. So don’t envy the collector.

Solomon had a friend, it was a story few would ever understand. Few can still understand why they crucified the Man who brought the miracles and told them of the world to come, and even today, there are those who still insist it never happened.

So Solomon has a friend, a story, a life, a house where there is cold

love, and a caravan where there is. This so called rich woman, so called, would watch every morning, her neighbors husband emerge from the small caravan next door, and inside she would sigh, her own husband caught up in a world that controlled him, sometimes he never came home at all. What was there to envy; the love she was so regularly denied. Simply put, you can’t live without it, not happily, amen.

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