We remain in our boxes--carry-on-sized. Contained to our socio-economic classes, educational backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, purities, disabilities.
And we do everything we possibly can to keep our hands clean.
I am so angry at myself. Anger erupting like Mount Etna--the molten lava washing down my body in remonstration of the tunnel vision with which I've navigated between relationships, friendships, aquaintances.
My ex-girlfriend, girlfriends ago, called me an elitest snob. That's hard to admit, to write in this molden cast hardening already on my body that I've turned away from people because their life resume missed superficial credentials.
We look everyday for connections.
I would have missed you.
I wouldn't have made it past the fact of you never graduating high school.
But, oh, how I love your language as it wraps and weaves and stops short to start again. Your perspectives dazzle me. Your writing catches rain like upturned leaves. And your Renaissance way of knowing the world presses on me like a field of red and yellow tulips.
We look everyday for connections.
And sometimes, we make the flight--even if it is in a direction we've never flown before.