Broken and Lost
Uno}
One is something broken, and one is something lost. They have yet to find out that they are Someones at all.
Or maybe they do know, secretly. Secrets are something they like.
They often sit together on the rooftop of a house that belongs to no one. It is crumbling to pieces, just like they are, and that’s what makes it beautiful, because it is the only thing besides three o clock in the morning that understands them. The world is asleep then and they seem to be the only ones alive until an hour before the sun rises, the world is asleep and they are hidden. Hiding is something they like. They often fold themselves into small spaces in the crumbling house and kiss and touch where the sun and city will never see them.
It doesn’t matter that they are something broken and something lost.
Because those sort of things are beautiful to them.
Dos}
“At night and in the summer, it looks like the city puts on clothes. Like it’s naked in the day, in the winter. You can see everything and it’s kinda ugly. But with the leaves and the dark covering things up, you can only see the lights, it’s kinda neat.”
“Never thought of it that way. City lights, huh?”
“Yeah I’ve always liked those. How half are kinda gold and the rest are blue? I love that color scheme.”
“You love a lot of things.”
“Mm hm. You, for instance.”
Tres}
He is a Mosaic.
I picked up his Broken pieces and helped him line them up in the wet cement.
Cuatro}
If they walked the streets of daytime, they were always side by side, but never touching. Always laughing, but never making eye contact. Always together, but never seen together. Always with one destination in mind, but never reaching it until nightfall.
The Broken lead the Lost through the sunlit suburban labyrinths and through downtown and through carnivals and sometimes through the darker places in the city. The Broken didn’t really know where he was going, so the Lost was still Lost because they were always some place new. Things changed, but nothing ever really changed.
At the end of every day they always found a new place, abandoned by all but them.
At the end of every day, they retreated to where they would be lost in shadow, lost in wood and rust, and completely tangled up in each other.
Cinco}
“What happens if someone finds us?”
Pause. “They won’t.”
“Why not?”
Pause. “Because…” Pause. “I don’t think anyone is looking for us.”
(and maybe we are invisible at night)
(maybe we are ghosts)
“But I mean, hypothetically.”
“I don’t like hypothetical situations, they’re pretty irrelevant.”
“I know. Just answer me anyway.”
Pause. “You do this to piss me off.”
Pause. Smile. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”
Seis}
I don’t remember how or when I found him.
I do remember that he’s just a wanderer.
I wander with him. And I’m afraid.
Afraid that someday he will wander somewhere I can’t.
One is something broken, and one is something lost. They have yet to find out that they are Someones at all.
Or maybe they do know, secretly. Secrets are something they like.
They often sit together on the rooftop of a house that belongs to no one. It is crumbling to pieces, just like they are, and that’s what makes it beautiful, because it is the only thing besides three o clock in the morning that understands them. The world is asleep then and they seem to be the only ones alive until an hour before the sun rises, the world is asleep and they are hidden. Hiding is something they like. They often fold themselves into small spaces in the crumbling house and kiss and touch where the sun and city will never see them.
It doesn’t matter that they are something broken and something lost.
Because those sort of things are beautiful to them.
Dos}
“At night and in the summer, it looks like the city puts on clothes. Like it’s naked in the day, in the winter. You can see everything and it’s kinda ugly. But with the leaves and the dark covering things up, you can only see the lights, it’s kinda neat.”
“Never thought of it that way. City lights, huh?”
“Yeah I’ve always liked those. How half are kinda gold and the rest are blue? I love that color scheme.”
“You love a lot of things.”
“Mm hm. You, for instance.”
Tres}
He is a Mosaic.
I picked up his Broken pieces and helped him line them up in the wet cement.
Cuatro}
If they walked the streets of daytime, they were always side by side, but never touching. Always laughing, but never making eye contact. Always together, but never seen together. Always with one destination in mind, but never reaching it until nightfall.
The Broken lead the Lost through the sunlit suburban labyrinths and through downtown and through carnivals and sometimes through the darker places in the city. The Broken didn’t really know where he was going, so the Lost was still Lost because they were always some place new. Things changed, but nothing ever really changed.
At the end of every day they always found a new place, abandoned by all but them.
At the end of every day, they retreated to where they would be lost in shadow, lost in wood and rust, and completely tangled up in each other.
Cinco}
“What happens if someone finds us?”
Pause. “They won’t.”
“Why not?”
Pause. “Because…” Pause. “I don’t think anyone is looking for us.”
(and maybe we are invisible at night)
(maybe we are ghosts)
“But I mean, hypothetically.”
“I don’t like hypothetical situations, they’re pretty irrelevant.”
“I know. Just answer me anyway.”
Pause. “You do this to piss me off.”
Pause. Smile. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”
Seis}
I don’t remember how or when I found him.
I do remember that he’s just a wanderer.
I wander with him. And I’m afraid.
Afraid that someday he will wander somewhere I can’t.