She has a coffee in her hand. It is melting the plastic cup it is in and blistering her hand. Soon, it will be all over the counter. She notices none of it. She's lost. I can tell. I'm sitting above her staring at her blank eyes and tapping feet.
I think she wants burning hands. she brought the plastic cup with her and demanded the coffee be poured in it, which makes me question my observation: she notices none of it. This makes me ponder whether any of my observations are real or accurate or truth. It seems all things do come undone if you observe long enough and know how to ask questions. I wonder if the same thing can be said of rising and convergence. I also wonder if dunces can form a confederacy. But that has nothing to do with her. Just my love of literature.
Now she's left and the counter is covered in her coffee. I'm still above. I'm still looking down. And I'm still observing. Maybe I should act and help clean it up. I watched it all unfold and did noting before, so something after may be in order. But I'm no good at action. It is why I write and love literature.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
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