The view from up here is clean, unfettered. I can watch you as you chip slowly at those walls life has erected around you. Life. Not you. I tell you this, sweetheart. It is not your fault. People hate and rage, buildings fall, society crumbles and we each deal with our own grief, in our own way. You think you are immune, wrapped tightly in that cocoon, that you put it there. But you didn’t. Life. A series of beautiful moments, interrupted by quiet, insidious ones… she won’t touch me, he doesn’t listen, I can’t, I must, I won’t, I will… cocooned. Encased.
My view is as clouded as the next person’s. By my own regrets and griefs. By my victories, too. But I watch you emerge, just for me. Just for me you break out where I can see the weeping sores and the pus and the vomit and the shit. And I am humbled. I am humbled you will let me view the atrocities with the beauties. My view of you is clean.
You are a man. And you shine through it.
I am the lucky one.
Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!