The way he jumped and fell
through the air hurtling
to the ground like an Osprey
plunging feet first towards its prey.
When he waved at the stranger,
with his uniform and shiny badge.
Useless.
When he walked into the hotel,
passed hundreds of people.
When he reached the top of the Stratosphere.
When he saw the world displayed before him,
so vast.
When it just wasn't enough anymore.
When people looked the other way,
pulled up old carpets,
threw out his furniture.
When they left his artwork on the wall.
When his story was silenced,
found,
shared.
When his life and death had become malleable
stories, like the melting iron tip of a sword
in a bright, hot fire.
When he jumped, we tried to forget him.
But we couldn't.
Based this off several pieces by John D'Agata. Check them out. Flawed in many ways, but utterly beautiful.
