My days start and end with tears. Pictures will flash through my mind of the inhumanity in humanity. I rarely cry for my own woes, though there are a few, in comparison, I could say they are petty as to not warrant attention.
I found my way in the mountains alone on the edge of a two-way road. Exhausted, I leaned against the mountain side. For a moment, I closed my eyes thinking I must be dreaming. A cigarette fell from above my head and landed at my feet; I could see it had broken in half. A man jumped down from a crevice and stood before me with a red backpack over his shoulder. He bent down, picked up the broken cigarette, and handed it to me. He tried to light the cigarette, but it failed to catch. He turned and started to walk away from me so I followed behind. There were no words spoken between us yet I knew there was a need to follow. After a few hours, we came to an abandoned house. The front door hung from one hinge at an angle that felt unnatural. The man entered and I followed him into the front room where I found two dogs. The man searched the dilapidated house as I knelt and coaxed the dogs into my open arms.
After the man found nothing of use, he left the house. I put the dogs in a room and shut the door, but I could not leave the house. Through a shattered window, I watched as the man got further away. I yelled, “What about the dogs?” “Leave them.” He shouted back. I turned to the sound of the barking dogs that were scratching against the closed-door and then back to the man who kept on walking without ever looking back. I watched the man until his red backpack disappeared.
My eyes opened, tears were dripping down the sides of my face. Wiping my wet face, I felt that life-long pain in my chest the one thing that has never left me since childhood and still I have no answer why this pain refuses to leave me alone, what it wants, or how to rid myself of its power.