There’s always been a big fight. But you wouldn’t know it tonight with the sky so clear and black and starry. Hope up there twinkling, like a thousand eyes looking back at me.
Some people never notice it because they’re focused on their moment. Movement. The way their hands reach and feel and bring everything in to them. Beer and pizza. Dumbbells and electricity. Razor blades and wine. Keyboards and screens. Anti-depressants and joints. Anything and everything to distract them from time and how quickly it’s passing them by.
And under all the pretty pinholes of light we tuck ourselves in after another good day, reveling in our roles—blind to the world outside our immediate lives—knowing happily and stupidly that tomorrow there’s a damn good chance we’ll be at it again. Alive.
Not far away, she falls to her knees, ready to please because she’s got an ache so itchy and overwhelming she no longer cares for basic needs. And a man throws his five-year old daughter off a bridge. And a priest stands atop a chair, fastening a noose. And a millionaire rapes to make another million. And a taxi driver punches his passenger. A smoker tosses his butt onto the ground instead of an ashtray. A cat is run over by a delivery truck. A gunman takes hostages in a hospital. Another co-worker pisses on the toilet seat. Monarchs flirt with the endangered species list. And a woman struggles to breathe as she holds her unconscious husband close and their bedroom is eaten by flames.
There’s always been fighting like this. Good versus evil. But you wouldn’t know it now. Not tonight under such clear, Northern Michigan skies. Up here, away from it all—where winter allows all of us to walk on water like gods—we’re out of touch. Two steps back. Drinking and eating—cheating—our way through hibernation, distracting ourselves ‘til Spring Thaw.