The boy sat on the banking looking for trout in the brook. The earth, mixed with growing ferns, smelled of something he didn’t know. He wanted the trout to come from the shaded area so he could watch them. “It’s not possible to live in another mind.” The boy said out loud, not knowing what his father had meant. The boy promised himself to never slam the door and leave. His mother replied to no one, “It’s when you care for someone more than yourself.”
Let me be what I am. Bad faith. Good faith. It’s an I thing, not an Us thing. Kind of like when you sit on a porch, listening to people preaching about your life without asking about your life. Sit, sip the air, understanding the air may just sing a song with a bird in front of their faces with color and charm to correct their direction of speech and eye.
Our tears heard themselves today. They didn’t ask how. They were there when they landed. Know not what you can see within yourself while yourself can’t see and ask again how do we listen to these tears once more. While once more finds you alone.
We walk in streets filled with people looking at their hands to find purpose when purpose looks back, but not from a hand. A drop of rain lands on the nose of a little girl. She smiles and tries to lick the drop. Her yellow rain jacket glistens while she jumps in a puddle to see her creation. ‘Mommy, did you see that?’ Her mother, didn’t see, ‘I’m busy reading.’ ‘But a rain drop landed right on my nose and then I couldn’t lick it. It dropped right into the puddle and I wanted to know where it was, but couldn’t tell, so I stomped on the puddle to find it and it’s definitely done being a rain drop.’ her smile looked at her mother while her mother looked at her hand.