What Love Can Do

We want to believe things like this come easy for us.  Realizing for the first time we are merely mortals.  Looking in a mirror and seeing ourselves for what we truly are.  Looking through the window facing the backyard and seeing our families move naturally without us.  That’s me, the daydreamer.  Looking in through the windows at smiling faces and wishing it was I.  We see these moments flash and know it is only a matter of time until we are brought back to reality harshly.  We dig in the trashcan, remove our dinner, and pretend.  If only I knew the father at the head of the table; he has a disgusting child porn addiction.  That beautiful wife he has, cheating on him with a sick eighty-eight year old man.  The daughter, head cheerleader at school, part-time drug dealer, full time slut.  I go back to my bedroll in a dark decrepit alley and wait for my next adventure.  The life of a bum, at least I don’t beg. 

The sun licking my face with a heavy tongue is a slap in the face.  I know I am worthless and small compared to you but really, do you have to rub it in my face?  I go about my morning stopping at the train station to make myself presentable.  Walking slowly down the bustling street, I ponder why I try so hard.  Finally reaching the immaculate doors of the public library, I feel tiny and unimportant.  The doors swing open as I am confronted by a blast of cool air.  My loose over-worn tee and baggy cargos stolen from the depths of Hell get me in the door.  My long brunette locks pulled back by a rubber band and my Cons stolen from a garage complete the image.  I make it past doors, desks, and librarians heavily laden with security waiting for someone to take my arm.  It never happens; it has never happened in the seventeen Saturdays I have been here.  I think they feel sorry for me, or maybe they see my purpose and give true love a chance.  Sometimes I wonder how I got to this place.  I had everything I ever wanted growing up, materialistically, that is.  My parents, as vacant as they were, were loaded.  My father’s money came from being a famous rosk-star, and my mom’s from being a business mogul.  Match made in Hell.  I ran away, greed and hate weren’t the life for me; my parents didn’t even look for me.  So here I am sitting in an enormous library reading Vonnegut and waiting for her.