Reflecting on this piece and thought I’d share again.
Photography: Peter Nijenjuis
He would ask, “What’s up?”
I’d reply, “Not much.”
He would laugh and joke, understandably uncomfortable with the slate of silence.
But I’ve shared before and these words go unheard:
It’s not “what’s up” it is “what’s down.”
It is a cremation of solitary confinement. It’s where life hurts. When breathing is an effort and the sun never rises in the fullest of day. Where each step is darkened and stuck. People are a blur and the sounds and sights vibrate two octaves lower than the earth. Everything cuts deeper and plucks the cellular structure of being. Tired is only a word. This feeling is the sand being pummeled by aching waves. And the window of soul have infinite tear stains.
Before I would answer, he’d reply, “It’s not so bad. Just look on the bright side.”
And I’d, blink through the fog. “Yes, of course…
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