Broken-hearted Passerby

I have several blogs I follow. This is one of them and one that I always anxiously await a new post.

Leave The Boots

All of these lives.

Sometimes they bump into each other. Even collide.

But more often they blindly, blurrily go past. Quiet. Ashen. Fluid and endless.

I’m not in the middle, or just near any edge. Only a broken-hearted passerby, fumbling with an introduction.

The way the world looks from the sky, everything is so small. Even understandable.

Tiny, silver, terra firma stars amid shadows pressing skyward past smoke rising off of things that seem purple.

It’s quiet, and beautiful, and intricate.

Just like up close.

Clasping palms, with fingers interlaced and the innocent brushing of fingerprints. Looking into black eyes, heads sharing a pillow and every breath a warm, soft breeze on each other’s mouth.

Quiet. Beautiful. Intricate.

Yet still, the reckless in-betweens bind and blind.

Ugly notions formed of partial understanding and presumptions.

The quick-to-judge, not-enough-time gravity pulling everyone to the lowest common denominator.

Always full of noise, wailing…

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