XIX
Our day to day lives. Our moments of thoughtlessness. Our time of drifting. Of trying to
get by. Hope to make it through. Hoping it will happen.
Joy will happen.
Forgetting other people’s thoughts. Other people’s needs. Are we not the center?
Is there other? Are we the other?
Others forgotten are drifting snow, quiet around us. Silent piles suddenly slowing our
steps.
Others as ourselves.
The distracted one, seems so rude. The hurried one, notices us not. Minor emergencies
loom large in our life. Forgetting the mundane. Forgetting the others.
Forgetting ourselves. Our memory.
How are these others? Who?
Are their faults our own? Like ours? Like days we wish not to have again? Days we wish
would return?
Our distractions. Our first loves. Visiting family. Friends not seen in a decade.
Our self in these others. Our shadow drifts in their faces. All seeking. All wishing. All
hoping to laugh.