In Real Life

The orange mountain sides would extinguish into white ash only to recover with the sprouting of green. At some point, the colors beyond the vehicles’ glass was all I could attach myself to. Through this prism I found solitude and a forgetfulness usually reserved for wine.

I came to cherish the sunlight that nourished my books. I soaked at night in the moon’s blanket. The companion lights of the city never held a difference to the country at night. The long stretches between towns were as welcome as the street lights that quickly piled on top of one another. Coming or going were just ideas connected by kick started heartbeats of the expeditions ahead.

The buses were empty most of the time. The driver and I shared looks of unspoken stories woven about the few travelers among us. They must have wondered the same of me before supplanting their world with earphones. My favorite place was the front window on a second story bus. My backpack would take the seat beside me while the rest went unfilled. However, I was not alone on those rides; a mid-sized town was in my pocket.

Not too long ago I marched on Wall Street. Occupied within me were marvelous dreams and astounding hopes foreign to my own. A policeman in who has lost his pension, a terminally ill artist without health care, and thousands of others connected with me through a magical way called social media. While I shared my world with them – they expanded mine.

I stayed in Liberty Square, or Zuccotti Park, until I could no longer tell the fear of winter from the misguided cops. Days after our eviction, others and I buckled down to coordinate the resulting chaos and mend the broken spirit. Now homeless, several of us parted ways. I left New York as anyone does, with little sleep and a bit thinner.

I didn’t get much rest for the next year. I had dipped my toes into the ocean of revolution and was caught by its enchanting riptide. My shoes wore with travel. I visited every Occupy I could. I met familiar strangers behind tweets. We shared experiences without a hundred forty character limit. Slowly, I discovered the people behind the pixels and realized there was no difference in real life.

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