Held Breath, Exhaled Home

 
He was reflective, contemplative, alone on a bench surrounded by budding trees and block-long concrete apartment complexes. His scarf wrapped tightly and pipe in hand, he inhaled and held. He wanted to exhale as the bikes zipped past unseen and the u-bahn unloaded below. Pupils dilating, he saw the microscopic growth of possible flowers blooming. Lungs expanding, he tasted the air laden with rain. He didn't want it to end, so still he held.

The old woman with her paper shopping bag and her yapping dog silk draped over her head walked past. There was no recognizable acknowledgement. There was nothing. He wanted something. He wanted to be seen if only momentarily. He exhaled. Still nothing. She was gone.

He sat on that bench alone as the night grew and the sliver of moon ascended. He finished his bowl with two drawn breaths. Then, he stood, and the world changed. He was no longer alone in the park. He was one of the masses trapped between where he was and where he was going. He liked it there. Almost more than on that bench.

He stalled. He held. Then, he went home.

Shifting Sands of Sinking and Elevation

 
There are moments of utter clarity that mark time in a manner relative. Those moments shine like a beacon pointing to a truth yet unknown. It is a constant shifting, a movement of sand beneath the feet that cause sinking and elevation in equal measure. These are the moments I love. These are the times I am free. It doesn't mater whether it is a step backwards or forwards because both steps lead to the same outcome. That is destiny. Easily redirected. Never changed.