empty hours

I greet the day wishing I could see things through another’s eyes. my disillusionment embarrasses me as one of the lucky ones in a world caving in on itself. I want to be more grateful for the good, though this want is forever dwarfed by the knowledge that who I am and what I do makes no difference to the machine. with my seat at the table I press the right buttons and am afforded the security and comfort I have learnt to take for granted. my time is taxed to fuel a war machine we’re taught not to talk about. outside people flood the streets with flags and signs demanding change. there are screams to stop the bombing but we can close the windows and turn on the radio. the truth can be dangerous but we know how to protect ourselves.

in empty hours I play with reason and unanswered questions as I once had with the knights in the castle collecting dust in my parent’s garage. I take my favourite toys through the quiet streets at night as I let my mind wander down unsurfaced paths. there are lifeless bikes in gutters and bins lined in waiting for judgement day and the knights keep fighting in my head. the duel is never ending and by time I’ve made it home and boiled the kettle I feel more lost and empty than before.

I try to look at the good. I call my parents and I love them. there are clouds and cats and songs that read like friends I wish I knew. there are people to miss and nights to fill with dreaming. I look at where and who I am and try to see more than an empty cage afraid of food and the mirror. the wind passes through and waves the curtain in the afternoon. I inhale the new air through my nose and wonder if I’ll grow again.