Like bubbles in the sky… lifeless words carry life-giving hope to the old man who lives among the mountains all alone. On the house up the hill, among people and trees, lives the tired-weary body whom I hear from once a week.
“Work is going all right. Though I should have waited for it be a little warmer.” Lies stiff the green grass, people stay indoors; even if he wants to talk to someone, more than the cold weather, he needs to thaw his ego.
When I met him two years ago, I couldn’t comprehend… how words never prepare you for the images that change over time. He had wrinkles, his vision a little blurred; but he still joked around and forgot, too often, to keep his temper in check.
With thousand miles between us now, I wonder sometimes what I would see. If I could travel inside those bubbles and finally see the face that I rarely get to see.
Words… like bubbles in the sky, burst too often when you are unprepared. The time hasn’t come, but it surely will. I hope I am ready, I hope I am prepared for the pain.