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  • Writer's pictureVictoria Streets (Buddy)

American Experience: A Thread


Dear Reader

Within the cold stillness of a winter morning, there is a hollow place that we all find ourselves encountering.

A small ball bounces inside causing the fridged interior to rattle with a crippling sorrowful fragility.

In the nothingness of this hollow state there tends to be a faint ringing of the senses feeling through the emotional lack thereof and shifts to focus on what occurs in the immediate vicinity.

The winter air bellows as nightly drivers pass through the narrow one way street.

The silence is eerie and does nothing to quail the continuous echoing waves of tumbling grief that chip away at the loss.

The shallow breath continues with a faint but steady heart beat.

Yet there is nothing or no one around.

Within this isolation, gazing upon a streetlamp there is a light.

The mechanical whirls of gears turning and the efficient clicks of a heating unit spurs to life, disturbing the gentle scene.

The street light above mirrors into the windows of neighboring windows as the curls of cold smoke against the midnight air catch the wind and drift away.

Dissipating & merging with the wind, the faint scent of pipe tobacco cascades through the chain link fences that separate each abode.

There are questions that roll through the grief stricken mind of the smoker & in the shame of it all, the silence remains.

There is no moon seen tonight.

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