Share It

It’s easy to go years wearing the same glasses. I’ve walked this path a thousand times, most likely.

And even though I’m so certain, sitting at the same bench, that I’ve the orchestration pinned to the minute, of the gale and ducks waddling synchronous… so I do know that this day, next to me, you’re wrapping an AK upon each wing and mouthing the leader’s signals to hurry. “Volcanic ash is nearing!”

If only you’d tell me.

It doesn’t have to be so fantastical. Maybe it’s sunken candle warm notes, Grandmother’s and beyond the picture window, past the portico, ducks settled near cornered puddles. Mists of rainfall. She’d hang up pastel carpets, along ornaments of a hippie inclination. Were there lava lamps? Sold a few years ago… you don’t have to fake any fondness; make it an Arctic General’s report and match my temperament.

Walking back from the park so fireflies resurrect in Dusk’s onslaught. And you could tell me about the Redwoods and that, perhaps, we’re nothing to trees in the end, but it’d be nice to live in treehouses, even if you debate being mole-people suggests more possibility, tranquility. Well, we’ll be the first to make diplomatic subterraneal gains then. I never did lose our flea-market necklaces of promise. How we were destined to make a story worth telling.

We have the same nouns, but we don’t have all the extras and background. So why not add them in, if you can?

Sometimes you’ll share it and it won’t register. But when it does I can feel my arm being pulled toward tomorrow, or a new planet, sure promise, or I’ll finally unscrew everything in my head.

Sometimes I’m tired of seeing the world through my eyes. But I figure if I share it, maybe someone would see their world a little new. And with that payment, well, I’ll see it through yours someday, too.