As I sit here the sun is shining though the window, casting shadows under the pilars. The wind is tossing the trees in the park, adding to the whir of the cars passing on 5th street. People walk by, most clutching at books or papers, or even more often a cigarette. Nicotine is a painkiller here. The pain of school, of stress, of work, of living day after day with thousands of other people going through the same life experiences as you, people who don't look you in the face as you walk by and rarely even venture to believe that perhaps you could be just like them inside. It's a dull pain, one most people don't recognise, or if they do, drown it as fast as possible. It isn't time efficient to feel depressed here. There's too much to be done.
I used to believe that some day it would all change, that some day I would find a place where the pain wasn't the first thing you felt when you stepped out of your bedroom. Maybe I am the only one that feels it. Maybe the rest of the people here are so wrapped up in their own little lives that they don't notice the hundreds of people they pass everyday. No... I know they aren't all like that. But a few are. Not me.
I really don't think life is something I'll ever be able to just watch pass by. At least not without a kind of sadness
There is a guy out on the street now. He is wearing a tan sheep-skin jacket, fashionably faded jeans, and a button front shirt, his hair gelled and styled perfectly, with a pair of expensive sunglasses perched on his nose. I wonder what he thinks when he steps out of the shower in the morning, naked and dripping, and looks in the mirror. Does he see the inherent beauty that is himself, or does he see the frame on which to hang the person he wants to be, with his eighty-dollar jeans and perfectly calculated sneer?
At times I talk to my friends and revel in the people they are, in the beauty that they are. It saddens me that they don't see it. The pain, the sadness, the trajedy, the humiliation that is human life. It is all so beautiful, so perfect. Without it, there would be no ecstacy, no happiness, no joy, no pride. It is all what makes life beautiful. This day is cold, true, as well as being beaten by an icy wind, but the sun is shining bright and clear, and that wind which chills our bones is blowing the leaves in an intricate ballet, twirling and spinning around the trees.
Look at this beauty that is life.
