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- Joined: May 05, 2012
Against the stark unforgiving darkness a crack of lighting streaks against the sky with a sublime and furious pale blue power. A moment or two later the growl of thunder shakes the ground, wind swirling violently, teasing the trees. Leaves and dust swirl and suspend in air heavy with another anticipated crescendo. Streaks of rain begin to pelt the side of my window, one of the few reminders that all of this chaos belongs out there in the wild. The lights begin to flicker and I excitedly move closer to the window fogging the glass up with my breath, taking it all in. I wish I were a part this violent passionate ballet. I wish I was but one of those wild leaves swirling in mid air.
I folded a piece of paper today. I wish I could show you, but it flew away.
I am rifling through a box of dusty old things in search of a spark for something new.
Coffee cup in hand, she finds herself walking through the park, having recently delivered her boyfriend’s lunch that he had forgotten, being blatantly reminded that she cannot be oblivious. Tremendous sadness is staring her in the face, chastising her for pretending to be ignorant.
At nine o’clock in the morning one woman is huddled under a large pine tree in a sleeping bag, ignoring the waking city that is now buzzing around her. Another man is muttering to himself by a trashcan, “He stole my blanket, a man stole my blanket,” while holding a folded blanket in his arms. For a moment it seems he has not noticed he has one, perhaps in a drug induced stupor. However, even if he was, there was no way of telling if he had once had two blankets, or that a man had stolen one.
She had no business holding a coffee cup sipping away in nonchalance witnessing this, and she knew it. She considered, for a moment, relinquishing the croissant that happened to be in her other hand, but didn’t. He clearly wanted a blanket. Right? And the car is just over there. A short walk longer and this doesn’t exist anymore.
Except this is a lie. While these two are out of sight, they still exist; they still have lives that must persist. When she arrives at home it is even more of a lie. At least half a dozen houses nearby are abandoned (“abandoned” being a relative term, considering most were occupied by squatters). It was there staring her in the face, and at the very pit of her stomach she knew she could do more, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
There were things that were worse than this, things more destitute and dire than this. Those things were out of reach though, set in a stage that she could not dream of touching. That is what makes all of this worse. She could do something about this. She couldn’t take on the world, but she could take on this. One simple gesture is all it would take, but she chose apathy. Coffee cup in hand, she walked away, unlocked her car door, and drove home.