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Writing

I wrote this short little piece in around a half-an-hour after a late night class a few weeks ago. Thought I’d post it here for anyone to read and maybe motivate or inspire. If you have any questions or comments or anything really just leave a comment and I’ll do what I can. I should note that I didn’t really proofread it or go over it too much so it may not make a lot of sense or have some odd sentences/English so bear with me.

“Passing through the hallways I watched their faces, each a deep skin-coloured porthole, sliding by each with a slight bob of vertical movement. And as I moved farther along, the waves of portholes continued. One after the other, an infinitely repeated marquee. Even the slight bobs repeated over and over with minute differences in timing, keeping steady to the rhythms of some sort of natural movement. Only the walls behind their porthole faces changed, first from the rough edges of greyed-out brick to the sharp extensions of dark metallic siding and then returning to more greyed-out brick and onto new colours of plastic and metal. Intermittently each wall was broken by a short quadrangular pane of glass. The smoothed surface owning a dual-purpose, letting the outside world permeate in and reflecting back the images of the inside.

Stopping for a moment, my mind wandered off in the direction of one of these large window-mirrors. Looking straight into the glass I could see the waves of portholes that passed me by. Yet myself, my own body, standing still was not moved by the current of these waves. I was merely the spectator to the sea, a buoy, chained at my feet.

It was then that I realized what made them all seem so alike. Their portholes, these faces all bore the same underlying emotion. One smile, tight and sharp. Eyebrows raised, bridging the forehead with a dark line. Eyes, intentful and lofty and bright. Each and every porthole, the same.

In between each pair of eyes lay the same emotion, deep beneath the surface of that porthole. It was happiness. It was contentment with life. It was the belief that what they had right at this moment was good enough for them. Not that they would not pursue greater, but that they had enough to sustain them for the time being. Whatever it was, they had it and they knew it.

Though maybe happiness isn’t for us all. Maybe we were not all intended to receive that present. At least for myself, I knew I wasn’t there. What I would’ve given to be among these waves, to flow with them and to be taken away by the same current that controlled their lives. Instead I was that lone buoy, chained in place. A spectator to the masses.”

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