I could be anywhere. Somewhere on the periphery. I don’t know much about the people I run into, but for a second they make sense to me. If I turn back to get another look they seem to disappear just in time. I forget quickly - was she pregnant? Who did he look like? I’m home now imagining a good picture that doesn’t exist, and wondering if the sky has always looked the same to everyone. I go back. A man tells me he just went to his Mother’s 100th birthday party. That it was the best party he’d ever been to. He disappears too. I wonder how old I’ll be. I wonder if I was ever a baby. I forget how small they are. A family mourns their father, they release white balloons in remembrance and we all watch them go. I never knew him, but I think they’re beautiful too.
Jack Isacke