The phrase, “The Final Straw”, is interesting. And more true than I thought.
The straws pile up.
And fall over.
But that’s ok….because it doesn’t seem like that many straws.
They are rolling off the edges.
They don’t seem so big.
Because they are spread out.
Across a long space. A long area.
And then….the pile gets bigger.
And higher…but you know the pile won’t overtake you. It’s just straws.
Who wants to acknowledge the entire PILE of straws.
Then…the last tiny, little straw falls……….right on top. Falling slowly….onto the pile. The pile is cracked. Broken. Over.
And you buckle. And you gasp. Where did all these STRAWS come from?
There are the straws you knew. You saw…..you put there.
But there were hidden straws. Straws you never KNEW where hurting the pile. Sneaky straws.
Straws that were so deep in the pile, you could never find them.
Thank God, Final Straw. For opening the eyes of Hateful Joy.
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