I hear the sound of the siren edging closer and closer, until it is right in front of the unit building, and past. I wonder at the instant to which house it is going to. Or came back from. Who the ambulance carried. I imagine the distraught, blood-covered face of a man, whose lips move in silence in an attempt of speech. His arms feel like logs. His feet like stone. His legs pinned down by a thousand pins. I envision the fresh blood hardening and cracking into a rich dark maroon. His dark black curls stained. What must the man be thinking? If he has no wife, no children, no pets, no parents, of what and whom was he thinking?

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I know nothing. I see nothing and so I say nothing.

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Can you blame someone you love? When you see the pieces of glass hurling in midair towards you. The clinking and spattering of a million pieces on the ground. The face full of real hatred. Do you still think of love? Even after you left, the scenes play and replay in your mind. The face of the person whom you loved. The voice that screeched and drowned. All tiny whispering voices telling you not to blame. Are you still able to love? The words that whipped at you and shattering, in an instant, everything of you. As you bear the pain in silence, your mind races. For the answer to the question asked: Why do you still love?

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“There are two girls. One of them she is very pretty. Everyone likes her. When she smiles, she is especially sweet. The other one, the other one she looks alright. But when she opens her mouth, it was a mouthful of buckteeth. It was ugly.“

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I don’t want to let go of this wonderful feeling. Of being in a world where there are no limits, constraints, or rules to follow. I want this sudden moment of revelation, of inspiration to last. To remain in the world of past great people. To learn from them, to know the stories behind them. Why do I feel the moment is slipping through my hands like sand, like fish slipping through a slippery net?