Take the room with the better view, you'll make better use of it. Keep the key they trusted you with, there's no sense returning it yet. Save the name. Save the number. Save the favor they forget. Nothing taken prematurely has to count as taking yet. Call it foresight. Call it stewardship. Call it keeping options near. People lose what they don't protect. You simply volunteer. There is always less tomorrow. There is always someone first. So secure what you can carry. Then secure what carries worth. A little more. For certainty. A little more. For security. Take what opens. Keep what stays. Lock what might be taken away. No one calls it avarice when you phrase it properly. A little more. Responsibly. Keep their time between your fingers. Keep their eyes when you arrive. Keep the promise past its purpose. Keep the debt itself alive. If they love you, make it binding. If they need you, make it last. What is loyalty but ownership with prettier language attached? Keep the credit. Keep the grievance. Keep the version where you're right. Keep the door they might walk through just a little less inviting. You don't envy what they have. You identify underused supply. Nothing wasted. Nothing idle. Nothing left beyond control. Every person, every privilege, every hunger has a role. A little more. For certainty. A little more. For security. Take what opens. Keep what stays. Lock what might be taken away. No one calls it avarice when you phrase it properly. A little more. Responsibly. There are things too rare for sharing. There are truths too useful free. There are people far more valuable when access comes through me. There are freedoms best administered. There are choices best delayed. There are needs that become orderly once someone sets the rate. You may call it concentration. I prefer continuity. If something matters, someone must decide who gets custody. And haven't you noticed? The moment you own something, you begin to fear the hand reaching for it. The moment you're given power, you begin to call surrender irresponsible. The moment someone needs you, you begin to wonder why they should ever be allowed not to. This is not corruption. Corruption is disorder. This is structure. A little more. For certainty. A little more. For security. Take the office. Take the title. Take the hands that sign below. Take the love. Take the loyalty. Take the right to tell them no. Call it duty. Call it prudence. Call it necessary growth. Every idol needs an altar. Every altar needs an owner. You kept the keys. You kept the names. You kept the favors, debts and claims. You kept the people close enough to never quite belong themselves. You learned so well. You learned that everything can be possessed if first you give possession a gentler name. There is only one detail left to clarify. You believed I was teaching you how to own the world. No. I was teaching you to understand mine. Your wants. Your fear. Your status. Your beautiful little need to keep. All assets. All accounted for. And you... especially you... were acquired the moment you agreed that everything should have an owner. Mammon does.
