N O T A C I R C L E
Concrete, wire, more concrete. Infinite layers of grey materials
Maybe bricks, cement. Sometimes they bother to paint,
As a grand gesture to make it approachable, closer to home.
Concrete, wire more concrete. Infinite layers of grey materials
Maybe bricks, cement. Sometimes wood as well.
We are all surrounded by these boxes, these squares with no way out.
A door? A window? These delicate yet violent ways of measured freedom,
Gifting us the slight feeling of control in this immense mass of heaviness.
Yes human, you can control (most times, depending on your situation) when you open, close or
enter this man-made opening on these man-made objects of decay and containment.
Infinite squares, made by us for us.
Can you feel the heat? Can you feel the warmth? Can you see or can you hear the human just like you on the other side of the wall?
Can you tell if their lights are on?
Can you feel if they are happy, or bumping their head on the opposite side of the wall desperately crying of despair?
Just like you are…
Just like when you were a kid. Have you pressed your ear on this square, trying to hear what is on the other side?
Have you pressed your hand trying to feel and connect?
Once you grow up, you’ll understand,
This is not a tree you can press your body and wrap your arms around.
This is not a shell you can bring to your ear and hear the ocean waves.
This is yet, another one of millions of thousands of men built structures, squares to make us lose ourselves, to become aware of each other’s existence but not of each other’s pain.