It's the little things that kill

little things that kill:
the mosquito as you walk across a slightly slick log bridge,
the missed turn into the Hilton that sends you onto a rainy freeway,
the torn grocery bag that contains both your weekly bread and Torani irish cream syrup,
the instinctual but definitely not intended smile,
the tiny doubt in a time of ecstacy,
the almost dropped bong,
the lost flashlight during the dark winter months,
slightly frost-bit fingers,
the burnt latte,
the running toilet.
The future of the world hangs on a hangnail.
little things that please:
when Modest Mouse's "Float On" comes on at the beginning of a road trip,
the perfectly chosen new couches in the library: subtle forest green with red, orange and purple leaves,
Mom's gift of a simple black phone covered with heart stickers.
The world turns on the point of a good ball-point pen.