People were here that aren't now.
Celeste.
Theresa.
Who knows the names to come.
I remember a cacophony of gentle and unkind things I thought and said at times- thinking we would go on being people together forever I suppose. The beauty I witnessed in them. The things I judged. The weight of that now. How heavy the petty can be.
It's just not time yet.
What is any of this, actually?
I need to tell you something in a hushed tone
about the man in the wheelchair
with only one shoe
hunched over
openly weeping in the rain
and how I walked by him.
What do we do? What can we do?
How is it that a whole crowd of us can stand and wait for the light to change and pretend not to notice a human being openly weeping only ten feet away?
What must it feel like to be the person in that chair- invisible. Worse than invisible.
And at the same time-
What can be done? What could I possibly do? And if I started doing something, would it ever end?
