Fractures

I heard the car go by and looked towards the window, trained to respond, as though identifying some kind of threat.
I can hear - the wind in the trees / the crickets singing in the night / the train going by in the distance / the trucks passing by on the highway / the cat jumping away from the table / the dog snoring on the couch / the flag rustling outside the door / the car parking down the street.
The bottle is cold and damp in my hand, heavy, and the label is wrinkled.
The breeze through the window, augmented by the fan above, cools my skin near to discomfort.

There were words I wanted to rearrange
Overwhelmed.
Interrupted.
Lost.

Honesty

And if I had a vision, it's been lost amidst the detritus of this acceptable life I lead.
Chased away as I trip in the darkness over the forgotten toy, fold one more clean shirt, listen with only a fraction of my attention, engage a limited portion of my intellect.
The doubting voice believes that there was no vision, this is my attention, I've overstated my intellect.
But in the end it doesn't really matter which voice is right because my deepest heart yearns for something different from this absence.

I cannot abide creating falsely dramatic situations in such a broken and harsh world.
I bleed over injustice, cry over tragedy, love over greatness, pray over it all and then hide under the bed when the storm comes, patiently waiting for it to pass.
Because in the end, my deepest heart yearns for something magnificent.

I am not beautiful and cannot submit myself to tragedy and will not deny the truth of my place.
But I think, once, I had a vision.