THE STORIES BEHIND THE STORY
How can the same words tell different stories?
Is it the order they are written at? Is it the objects, the subjects?
I would say it Is the eyes, for the words that have eyes.
They are the eyes of the soul, the eyes of pain, the eyes of grief
They are the tears that tear down a heart that was thought to be unbreakable
They are the colors that paint what the words describe
They are the colors that faint what the world can’t hide
They are words to hear about stories not to conceal
They are from people who are still trying to heal.
Alone but still together
They ran together
But each of them was on their own
They grew up in the same world
But each of them got to know a different world
They jumped over the same obstacles
But each of them tripped on a different rock
They sang the same song
But each of them in a different rhythm
They went for the same treasure
But each of them looked for different gems
They world saw them together
But in reality they were all apart
Before was different: some things you think about twice when you shouldn’t have to
The neighbors got the package again
The elderly woman crossing the street stares into your eyes, do you help or distance
The bar asks for your id, he didn’t ask anyone younger than you in the line
You order coffee in perfect German, they respond in English,
A beautiful white morning ruined- Snow, huh, you’re probably not used to that eh? …
They checked the bus, it was you again, yes you still have a BVG ticket.
A man came out to you asking for help, a breath of fresh air, finally someone recognizes your belonging.
Then again, maybe it was the exact opposite, and an unexplained familiarity drew the African tourist to you.
in case you were wondering,
I’ve stopped thinking twice. I often choose not to think at all, after all, they do the overthinking in the house here.