The little kids toss ball with ease. But it's not the ball they watch, it's the placid faces of their partner opposite to them. The ball is just what causes the feeling, not what decides it. It is not important in the game so much as the players who bring forth it's movement. I watch with a little kind of wonder. This is simple. A moment of unadulterated companionship.
It's strange to think how happy they are in this moment. Because all too soon it will be forgotten in the past reflections of their memories--lost to the snapping of long term brain capacity, which breaks and erases the pieces of time not yet tagged with a value. Soon to be swept up like that of crumbs in a dust pan. These memories have no fate except a predetermined extinguishing. There is no way to keep what's been written off as unavailing. My head swiftly alternates from players, quiet thoughts make pace in my mind as the ball passes from one exuberant face to another's flurried hands. And I begin to think; what if they can never find a time to be this happy again? If this is it, all that this certain minute right now will bring, should they be content that their childish minds have enjoyed it once and must not rely on it for future recalling? I wonder. Such a simple-minded game I am seeing before me. Yet more is being passed back and forth--a force that appears to lighten the game. An abundance of oxygen fulfilling the skin of the ball. My realization is not forgotten within the wrapt excitement of this clipped time. In my mind I can clearly see how the ball seems too droop with a little less momentum. Because, ignorantly, it carries with it the source of a weighty happiness.
YOU ARE READING
To Who I Am
PuisiThis is me in words. It's not a story or pages of useless ranting. It's what I feel, what I think in the hours of class only my mind can escape. Because isn't escape what we live for? I just want it to exist somewhere. Here in these parts... Read o...
