Everything Must Not Be Enough
Windows are great, aren’t they? Underappreciated, really.
They allow you to see everything about them, into them, through them. They insulate you from elements; let your plants still get their tans, stay cool to the touch in the blazing sun. In all of their transparency, too, they still provide the chance for reflection. Only, what you see in them is slightly askew, ghastly, hovering, indefinite, maybe the way a reflection should always be-to remind us of its status as such.
I wish I were a window. Nothing to hide, always relied upon. I don’t think I would like to kill birds, but we all do our fair share of harm.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had a good, hard cry before. But today’s was just that. Life has been hitting me hard as of late. Money is miserly is misery. A world without friends is a tough one to confide in. And I was brought to my knees this afternoon with my face melting into a pillow and my cheeks swelling with shame. Your chest convulses as if bucking for air but you’re still breathing freely, so what with the sobs?
Blowing your nose feels good after crying and then throwing the tissue (or, in this case, a paper towel) away is like discarding the sadness. Your cheeks taste salty and your face looks like marshmallows have been stuffed into it. But, all in all, you feel tempered from the outburst, returned to normal, almost. The rest of life seems to have calmed in the interim and the silence that follows is pleasant. I like it when it’s like this.
The wind sliding leaves against a wall is soothing. I’m sure the bricks don’t mind the caress. Night sits atop the city and we thank it for relieving the pain of the visible. Sundials need their respites.
Steam rises up from a mug burning mischief and the scent of it makes one scrunch up their face to collect the perfume in between the eyes.
Scratch your scalp to see what falls onto the page in front of you…it will be your most brilliant work yet.
We stare so hard, sometimes. We really should be laughing.
