Looking out the window


Sometimes it's like these moments come at you like rain drops in a storm. And no matter how hard to you try to focus and stay on one drop, a thousand more fill your vision and the moment has begun to pass.

And so I get that - I get that all this - all this that is - just keeps going; like you're on a train that never stops. Sometimes you can stare at the countryside as if it's so still, and sometimes when the trees are so close they touch the train, they just move by too fast to consider.

I thought about calling you. But then I know you are good, and the more I think about you, the more I wonder if you're real, if you ever were to begin with.

I sat and ate lunch at a deli near the house. I just stared out the window. One of the workers tried to make small talk. I just smiled and nodded, then would turn to look back and out the window again. I just stared; out beyond the nameless whatever in front of me. I don't know if I was looking into the future, into myself, or trying to see what could possibly exist beyond the horizon; I just looked out. I don't remember if I saw anything.

You won't ever read this, or know about this, but you were, and sometimes are, a faint fragrance of a better moment. When the wind blows that aroma near and I taste it, just for that second, it's like looking across a grand canyon and seeing home and having a rush of familial memories... And just as it occurred so it happens I am jolted back into my current circumstances by some item, some receipt in my hand, some click of a shoe heel on tiled floor, and just like that you vanish like a campfire ghost. And there I am, again, in the deli, looking out into the somethingness of the nothingness.

I am just - absolutely - just sitting,
in that deli,
near my house,
staring out.
Posted on September 13, 2012 and filed under Moments, Letter.