You see a curve. A curb. There mocking your stillness as you sit in the grass of your yard, looking out. The curb sits there gray yet smooth, showing only small discrepancies from wear and tear over the years, because of a visitor that doesn’t come over anymore. The visitor used to come over, but then they stopped. You don’t know why, it’s only a few yards to their curb. Their gray curve. You know that. You tell yourself that it doesn’t bother you. It’s just one less visitor, one less… one less…. Just one less.
It’s easy to overcome, the curb I mean. When you were a kid you did it all the time. All it takes is one-step, moving one leg then the other. And Viola. Mission complete. But as you grew up the curb become more of a shelter right? There was no reason to go across the threshold and venture into the world. A world with pain and war. Anger and hate. Starvation, murder, and genocide. A world, which could be so much better if everything was fixed…. Not everything… just most things.
You sit there, watching. Seeing people for who they truly are. Seeing things for what they truly are. People don’t notice you as you sit there, so it’s easy. You listen to people when they stand patiently outside your curb talking to you, but you don’t really hear them. You watch people pass as you stay seated, but you don’t really see them. Life goes on around you, and you’re aware of it but just not in the middle of its crosshairs. You choose to watch because… you choose to watch…. It’s your choice to watch.
You could do it, but what’s the point? Venturing across the threshold, I mean. People visit, stepping over the curb into your world, a world only you can understand. A world that you like and is only perfect when it wants to be. But it is still perfectly your world. People just don’t understand. You stay because you know you’re… you stay because… You just stay… because.
The last trip across the curb wasn’t so fun, huh? The little things, that’s what gets to you. I understand. You feel alone and small in a crowd of people. I understand. You can never truly be yourself. I understand. Everything you do seems like a mistake. I understand. You latch on to anyone you can. I understand. You scrutinize every word spoken. I understand. Paranoia. Depression. I understand. Trust me, haha, I understand.
You don’t have to cross the threshold. I understand. We are content.