I dip my toe in the space
in the pavement where a crack has formed—a blistering, puffy wound in the asphalt.
Whisper. Whisper.
Wind curls my hair
gently, breathing wisps of life into the city of rubble.
I am alone, unsure of how
I got here. But I am here.
Rocks crunch beneath my
toes; I meander down the street, trying to gather my bearings.
All I see is rubble.
Whisper. Whisper.
This place was once cared
for; it was once a place of peace and community.
I can tell—there are
tools for tending, and laughter hiding in the corners and doorways, beneath the
faucets and under the rugs.
There was joy.
(I don’t know where I am going, only that I am going.)
I begin crawling over the
mountains of rubble, slicing my palms on sharp edges of brick and glass that
were once smooth.
I am disoriented, panic
rising like boiling water within me.
I don’t know. I don’t
know. I’m lost.
Whisper. Whisper.
The panic boils over and
out of my eyes, a soul weeping, clamoring over the rubble.
I don’t know. I don’t
know. I’m lost.
Where do I go? How did I get here?
I’m empty. I rest my
cheek on the jagged brick. Tears and tension leave me.
“I’m scared. I don’t
know.”
Whisper. Whisper.
I finally pull myself up and
continue moving over the city of rubble until I reach a precipice.
A noise startles me; I
see you sitting still, alert, staring at me.
“Hi.” I speak
tentatively.
“Hi,” you say.
Whisper. Whisper.
I slowly inch towards
you. “What are you doing here?”
(Your look of insecurity
mirrors my own.)
“I don’t know. But I am
here.”
I stare at you. We are
silent.
“Well…I don’t really know
what I’m doing here or even where I’m going, but…we could walk together for a
bit if you’d like.”
You stare at me. “I’d
like that.”
I extend my hand; you
grasp it, releasing a weary soul sigh—an ache for rest.
We turn towards the city
of rubble, the one with laughter hiding beneath the rugs.
Whisper. Whisper.
All that’s lost will be restored.
Photo Credit: http://www.courierpress.com/photos/2010/jul/30/65259/
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