Of Chewing Gum and Black Holes

If I wanted to describe my life in one big metaphor I would probably say: “My life is like a piece of chewing gum” (Yes, I know, that’s a simile, not a metaphor). It started out perfectly, my life, that is, the surface and inside smooth, neat and unblemished. But then the teeth came. Teeth like rows of houses in the distance, like the houses I left behind. The throat is like the eyes of the storm, unmoving and peaceful. But the storm rages on until you meet your end. Chewing gum, no matter how much it might want to, can never meet its end, not until you throw it out. But chewing gum sticks. So, I suppose, my life is quite a bit like chewing gum. I’ve been bitten so many times now; I’m just a mangled tasteless mess.