This Place

I’m sitting on Mom’s back porch, smoking and listening to the little waterfall in Mom’s pond. Or water feature. Or liquid meditation area. What it’s called seems to depend on if you’re talking to the contractor, his son, or Captain Crazy. But, I digress…

From here, I can see the glow of the refineries warming the night sky with petrochemical burn off. Their low roar  is reassuring, somehow. Even so, and as much as I adore my mother, I would like nothing more than to run away from this place and never look back. 

My heart aches, heavy with memories as I write these lines. They are a collective that refuse to die. Life within life…my life, played out, redefined and judged by shadows, cast far and wide. It seems that there is no escape, no graceful way to bow out, until they’ve had their way. 

Sometimes, I wonder why things happen as they do. Why would an unwanted one, such as myself, dare ask fairness of Life? Do not misunderstand me; I am no victim. But I do have eyes to see, and ears to hear, and I have kept the dark secrets of many people. Yet, these people seem to dance through life with no conflict or struggle, their guilty deeds left far behind. I’m not a vengeful person, and only wish them well, but I am still only human and can’t help but wonder. Where is justice in the mix of it all? Why must I feel everything and nothing, at once? I have no appreciation for the double minded, yet that’s what I am tonight, sitting on Mom’s back porch. 

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