Morning Curiosity

Hearts atrocity

The earliness of the morning beneath cloud cover, listening to cars pass by my window.

Starts me wondering why they never stop to turn in here, why I am not worthy of even a moment’s consideration.

Like the giant ball of string, or any other roadside anomaly to be viewed one second, in destination elsewhere.

I think of all the others like me, feeling membership on the island of misfit toys, hoping someone will one day consider us.

Each tick of the clock is an exclamation mark in time reminding us of the solitude we must bear for choosing to remain true to ourselves.

Until such time, our uniqueness is celebrated as if a calculated measure planned all along.

Or time claims our removal from the island in migration to the clouds.

To hopefully know the company of love life promises in fairy tales and faith.

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