Bubble

We are all in our own little bubble. Head down, trying to stay out of trouble. When I look up and out through my dingy dirty lens at you, It’s like a breath of fresh air.

I wonder what you must see as the light filters in and through your crystal clear bubble out towards mine. I wonder if I could see more clearly if our bubbles combined through osmosis, cleansing the dirt from my shell like it is soap. None of these thoughts matter because I am trapped behind these tinged transparent walls. Unable to touch, to feel the world that surrounds me, to be free of my overcrowded intrusive mind. 

You granted me a kindness I have nary received from a stranger. You looked at me. Not in my direction or around my convex concavities but actually at me. Your gaze, it pierced through my veiled armor, through yours creating a bridge between our souls where a second seemed infinite though it was not more than a second. 

You laid yourself bare risking a silent rejection: A roll of the eyes, a darting eye, a back turned. They are so commonplace in our world that when someone matches our gaze even for a moment, our bubble shatters, like the fat lady’s glass belting out her hallelujah. 

Even though you left, your kindness sticks with me like platelets healing up a wound this world inflicted. No longer invisible no longer dirty. Just the best part of humanity shining for a moment. Like a ray of sun parting from the heavens giving us hope on a storm soaked day.