across the river

Posted: January 14, 2011 in proselytizaytion
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I lived with you for months, but I don’t think you ever noticed me.
I was afraid that if you did notice, you might relegate me to my spot on the cold concrete across the river.
For months, I thanked you for paying me no mind at all while I…

I looked up to you wondering why you were there, why anyone would be there…across the river.
A year prior, no one had been there, and now…there you were each night comfortable and complacent.
You spent most of your time in the dark, illuminated only by the flicker of a giant television screen that I would watch silently over your shoulder.
I would lurk and linger on the balcony that you never, ever used. It was even colder up there in the wind, so I’d curl into the shadows that softened the corners of your minimalist decor.
You never even indicated that you knew that you had windows overlooking the river.
Why would you pay for a river view? You could watch that TV anywhere. What were you watching anyway?
By this time, the yellow marquee would sail over the lift of the bridge into view, and I would stand half frozen and step to the curb.

Later, I stopped bothering to wait there with you; for you to notice me staring into the curtainless glass wall of your expensive open floor plan; anticipating a bus that rarely kept to schedules. Walking away had more measure and weight, and I could rely on my wandering steps that brought me to belligerent drunks and ducks in the dark. I could trust following my feet without looking down, but I could never quite understand anything when looking up at you.


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