New Eyes

As a new day opens with my eyes in a close 30th place, clear vision without aide becomes more commonplace. And yet, even at full vision, with the information pouring in at every waking moment, the amount that escapes notice saddens. The brief glances at the distant sign that elude comprehension because of a skewed wrinkle and the passing train carrying blurs through the tunnels are all beyond reach.

The multitude of strangers that I pass quickly rush on by as I reciprocate happily in my delusion of clarity. Bright sunrays squint my eyes, and floating debris wink my lids. The old man pulling tunes of sadness in off-key squeaks is applauded by the crowds of the exotic-seeking who are too poor of heart and mind to venture beyond comfortable confines. An overused sentence structure is written in hopes of confounding more discerning eyes beyond what is actually taking place, as crisply sad notes are remembered in an electronic void.

The flowing traffic awaits, the walk to the hospital checks its watch, and the cold lunch stirs itself in loneliness, hoping for consumption. I can take care of these needs, I can attend to their desires. I can do for it, what it cannot similarly provide me, but only in those random moments. Afterwards, they, too, are left to wallow, but grief and pity are not so much what they feel. I can sense how they feel, for they know they've provided me what I cannot similarly provide for them. Is it an economical exchange for the satisfaction based on we all get what we want? Or is it settling for that which we can get?