That little lady has been trying to cross the street. She has a foot already on the asphalt, while people have been passing her with their lifeless deaf eyes. There is this bus sliding down, swaying from side to side, while people inside struggle for tasting some air, whereas those wheels long only for home. Then you are not seeing that flower falling over your head like rain when the wind blows, proudly telling you it is able to fly. As it reaches your feet, you simply crash it and go on however its broken petals yell 'mourn me'. Nobody is seeing him when that man stumbles by the next corner, nor the rain that is gone for dozens of days now, or the cake on fire inside the oven, or that heavy branch fallen deep in the woods, or the deer not licking the blood on its missing paw, or how high that butterfly flew before getting invisible in the clear sky. Nobody saw the old test thrown away by those teens, that bubblegum the child swallowed when it got tasteless, or the pen his mother lost in the kitchen. Nobody saw it when you finished your first book, when he dropped his cellphone under his desk, when she forgot her bus ticket, when the cat caught that rat or when that tiny bird broke its egg and feared the ground down below for the first time.
The universe is this eternal coming and going, not surprising itself with corpses or newborn cries. Who are we in it? Who are we but dreams of a shadow?
Once upon a time we were born, and nothing changes when we are finally happily-ever-after-ly dead.
As we are sure going to be.
