Who are we?
Are we simply murmurs in the night, sounds heard briefly by another, and then we disappear?
We arrive as if by magic. We roam the earth for a while, touching others, and being touched ever so slightly. We leave traces behind, traces of memories, ever so slight, and then the traces are gone into the mists of time.
Some believe they are majestic, like the mountains of the Himalayas. They shriek into the night, insisting they are forever grand, and will live on as the sun and the stars. But then they too are gone into the mists.
Those who awoke on 9/11 thought they were passing through yet another day, one more in the continuing saga we often call life. And then, in a swift moment in time, they disappeared, taken away by a disfigured thought. And the takers were also gone into those mists.
And we think now, we remember those murmurs in the night.
But we don’t, can’t. Because we still think we are magic and we will survive, regardless of our own disfigured thoughts.
If only we knew, or could imagine. Perhaps we might smile more, love more, hate less.
And then we too would be gone . . .