Looking for meaning in the lines along the bark of trees and the trails of grit between bricks on walls. Sometimes, I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but I guess looking at anything close up makes it appear out of focus.
Move along, let the crowd push me on. Too many faces and bodies to count, and I am like a child in a field of grasses taller than my head. I used to revel in the joy of feeling lost like that. Small, hiding in clothing racks of department stores and nesting myself in tangles of tree branches, I think I spent my childhood trying to disappear. Step back, and I’m gone, like the imperfections in the city brickwork. Look from far away, and everything is moving as it should, all together, all connected. My trajectory matches the rest. We’re all disappearing slowly, after all, but it’s not bad.
I want to be part of the stones in the wall, the grooves of the sidewalk, the holes in fences, the paint in murals. There’s comfort in the camouflage. But a man with blue eyes yells “SMILE!” in my face and I can’t be lost in my own head anymore. I’m here. I’m solid. There’s no disappearing, not really. I look wrong, out-of-place and blurry, but I’m here.