We meet again

April 15, 2013
I ran into someone today.

We had a conversation without words.

A conversation with only our company.

Only breathing could be seen.

But the conversation was fluid.

There was incredible peace with every word.

Every reason for wishing a better ending was gone.

The only thing that was wished was more time after the start.

This person had a hunch back and a very small structure. He had very unusual teeth that would frighten small children and encourage teens to mock. He showed age but youth in his eyes no matter how much the skin around them were slowly being sewed together with each eyelash. His glasses showed glares from the light he would soon walk into. His smile showed a story of a life worthy of reading but had pagers too fragile to be turned. And he sat at the library table as if he was in the comfort of his own home. He read the Seattle Times as if he was looking through a photo album. He sat as if he had a cup of coffee by his hand, maybe it had a couple cubes of sugar in it or even some cream, maybe he kept it strong with nothing more than a bottom less cup. But the one thing I heard him say through his independence was that he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to sit at a table, but he wanted to sit with a person. He told me that people now a day’s aren’t people anymore but empty saloons. To him we were empty saloons with cobwebs at each corner and dust covering up each window. And if you had a window that was too clear, you would never get that vacant look full. Now days, instead of talking to a local citizen you stand. Protecting what you value. You think of what can happen by the devil but forget that there are many other people, many more people who can resist the devils addicting games. He said that even sometimes people who carry paranoia are the ones who are more likely to be defeated by boredom and play the devils games for security. He said that now instead of walking every one runs and collects the coins others drop on the way and no one ever stops to see that the many that are running aren’t even carrying air. He said he was sad to leave a world so displeased. He said he missed what he had when he was a kid because now we kids are being told what to like though the mesmerizing sights of bright screens you can hold in the palm of your hand. He said that he missed the company music gave you when all you did was grooved instead of grind. He said he missed the talk of friendliness being as is instead of a plan of getting into someone’s pants. He said he missed the sweet taste of love after years built on relationships because relationships in books have came true. But at this point I was confused. I looked at him and he said that now we fall instantly in love with one smack of the lips. He said he missed the lettermen that were worn with pride. He missed the world when words were spoken to share compare and contrast. Now all we do is spit in the faces of rolling eyes and self displeasing souls. But after a few more minutes of silent ranting. He folded up his new paper and walked out the library. I was then left with all the thoughts and predictions of how that man could have lived. How it must feel to him to see how much this world can turn and hide problems for profit. How nothing is really beautiful until it has been ruined.

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