People Watching
I always find them so interesting- people.
People, although they are quite alike are so interestingly contradictory. All in one moment they can be smiling so brightly the entire room glows but hurting so deeply that they want all life to vanish in seconds so they can peacefully live on in the abyss of mystery that is heaven and hell.Â
Itâs like a puzzle-the world- and we are all pieces. Beautifully broken, horridly tragic, stunningly ugly people. We each have our own lives, our own worlds, our own thoughts, our own file boxes. File boxes filled with memories. Memories of past lives and new lives and wretched disasters of our own wrong doings. Filtered through our freckles, I swear. Our only accessories that never quite leave us. Hidden or visible they're always watching and spotting our every move, word, thought, feeling.Â
How ridiculous is it to think our freckles reveal so much? But they do. They dot our lives, blemishing more than just our faces. Exposing the control we seek- our stuck up attitudes in a whirlwind of petty actions. Many have called my analogies outlandish and unintelligible, but truly I believe if you examine a person more closely, their thought processes, everything.. How could one single set of eyes and ears record so much information? How could these beautiful particles only catch all the bad in life when in reality they should be catching the good? That is where freckles come in, discreetly beautiful in an ugly sort of way, they catch everything else.Â
Life is full of disgusting little beautiful ugly things.
Things that we wouldn't catch and take hold of as extraordinary if we didn't notice them. Heaven only knows in this picture perfect world only blemishes stand out. So let your freckles go. Let them be free. Let them be noticed.Â
The entirety of this whole conversation has nothing to do with anything, except everything. All of this in total actuality has to do with people. People within themselves are although quite confusing, truly easy to read and understand.Â
You can look around a room and see the beauty in the corner with the long brown hair-Â running her fingers through her bangs, tossing her glasses aside, she contemplates life over a cup of peppermint tea and a lemon scone.Â
What about the man with the professor shaped glasses and the cappuccino at the bistro table thumbing away at an old Shakespearean book? Eyes raised he glances at the beautiful woman who just walked in the door. Blazing blue hair and green sharp eyes cut the room in hopes to arise suspicions of his true identity. Studs and heels can only cover up so much.Â
I long to know these souls. These broken pieced together souls.Â
I see the mom with the curly flailing hair, stress seeping out of her eyes. Two kids in tow, hungrily searching for a seat, or a kind smile. Two things that could only be found within an individual who noticed. I look around and see several eyes glance her way. Mugs empty, conversations dry, only chapped lips and a jacket awaiting them. They know, they see. But as the selfish human beings we all are, they turn in angst. They look away, changing the topic of conversation just to continue on, breaking their bones in the hard wooden grooves of the worn chairs. She turns away; sorry and worn. But only one sees. She quickly grabs her things and moves to another more solitary spot. Only to provide refuge for a thankful set of eyes. Kind words and smiles and love are traded only to be returned with the screaming of an ungrateful child. âWant a kid?â she wearily jokes. But I know she doesn't mean it. She ached and shed and labored for that human and she would it over and over and over again.Â
Oh were the days we made our mothers ache! Ache at the thought of our futures, at the present trials, at the past tribulations. Aches and head bumps only bring about scorn and wilted skin. Bird's feet sprouts in the corners of the marbles of life. Color fills even the most dull of life's delusions. Reflections off grey deep puddles reveal only what needs to be known.Â
So I ask you fellow thinkers, what is really important in earth? Mother's stories and screaming babies? Classic literature and new political outlooks? Or is it the utter aroma of one of life's greatest pleasures? I don't know.
Ingest my thoughts, swallow them. Sometimes only the most bitter needs to be chewed and digested in a sing-song way.
Ta Ta.
- an excerpt from my creative writing journal