Pieces

Little pieces first, flakes that flicker as they fly, tiny points of light that scatter like embers and settle, glowing a moment, then gone. But then larger portions, something given never returned, shreds of innocence fleeting. Soon enough it’s noticeable, the chunks missing here, there, you can see it in my eyes. Do they have them, guard them, treasure them? Have they been dissolved, evaporated to invisibility? Assimilated into new forms, living lives of their own? Or were they cast off, like a thing contaminated? They were pure, once, as was I, trust beaming from every pore. Now scratched and duller, I wonder—is it only polish I need? Do souls regenerate? Or will the holes remain, a gaping reminder of lost self, willingly and involuntarily bestowed?
...

Waking Up

This morning I was woken up by birds. Not the polite, cheerful twittering of movies and sound effects, but a loud, rude, repeated honking. The honking bird would say his bit, and another bird would answer, with a flat, trilling laugh ending in an unpleasant buzz. HO-onk, trill, buzz, HO-onk, trill, buzz—over and over again, at first background noise, then pushing itself steadily into my dreams, bringing with it consciousness. Still mostly asleep, I listened, noted. This was not the honking of taxis I had become accustomed to in the city, not the wailing of sirens, not even the loud clatter of rain on the protruding air conditioner box. The sounds that now intruded on my rest were natural ones—and yet no less obnoxious. With sleep still clinging to me, I smiled a mental smile. The unceasing calls drew me nearer and nearer to open-eyed awareness, and I noticed every crease and whistle, the nuances that made each sound unique, uniquely annoying.

“Oh,” I thought, “it’s good to be home.”
...

Missing

A girl, circa 22 yo, brown hair, brown eyes, full of dreams. Passionate, devoted, excited. Able to see potential and a world bright with magic. Overflowing with words.

If found, please return.
Care of: SJ

A box
NYC