The Things In Our Lives

Sometimes... A lot of the time... I look at something, anything really, and want to know what it's like to be it.

What is it like to be a star? Is it lonely, with the closest star to you so far away? Or do you have loud enough voices to speak easily? Do we irritate you with all our wishes? Or are you just sad you cannot grant all of our wishes at once? Do you contemplate forever what wish you will grant when you finally shoot off? Or do you do it on impulse, on the first person to make a wish upon you?

What of a cloud? Always changing, subject to the wind. How does that feel? Sometimes I wonder if the clouds see similarities in us, in themselves. We are always changing. We are subject to our own flow of life.

Or a rock, perhaps. How does it feel to be overlooked, forgotten about, stepped on, beaten down, until the wind and rain erode you to nothing? I think we all know how that feels, but how is it to have it happen every day of your life?

Or the teddy bear we used to be so fond of. They sit on the edge of the bed, or in the closet, or on a chair, or in a box, forgotten about. Sometimes forever. Sometimes until we realize we can't live without them. Do they feel used? Or are they just happy to be able to help us?

These masks on my wall, do they feel sorry for me? They've not seen everything, but they've seen the end result of it all. They've seen me cry, they've seen me wish myself elsewhere, they've seen me happy, even. Do they wonder what happened, where everything went, when they couldn't look upon me? Do they wish they could cry through their porcelain eyes? Or do they think me lucky I can express emotions in the way they cannot?

What would the things in our lives say, if they only had a way to express it in a way we'd understand?


Post a Comment