Things I didn’t know I could feel

I sat outside, on a cold concrete bench, observing.

The waning daylight painted everything in cloudy and tired colors.

I didn’t know I could feel the things around me with my eyes.

Shapes and colors spoke to me in a language that only my soul could understand.

The sky was a blue-gray; it made me feel calm.

The clouds were painted in sideways streaks.

They looked relaxed, as if they were winded after a long day of traveling.

I didn’t know I could feel the people around me.

There were a few, but the departing sun kept most of them inside.

There were cyclists, going from one place to another. they were ethereal, almost, in the way that they were there one moment

then gone the next.

I saw people playing soccer on the field, and any time something exciting happened, my mind

jumped.

I could hear them shouting each other’s names; some cheered and taunted when they scored.

I noticed people sitting on the concrete benches close to me, speaking another language, 

one I couldn’t understand.

I didn’t know I could feel warmth in their voices anyway.

I never knew I felt life happening around me.

The air felt nippy, like a teething puppy. My hands felt cold too.

They felt slower.

When I breathed through my mouth, the air tasted the way mint gum does once you’ve spit it out.

I understood that everyone else could taste the same thing. It connected me to them. 

It felt uniting.

And even though I could never extend an arm far enough to make physical contact with the people near me, their presence touched me.

I didn’t know I could feel so human.

The Thinker

I am curious how long you have pondered…

Like your eyes, which are trapped in an empty gaze, your bronze body is frozen,

but your immortal mind is not.

It roams and races freely.

To which corners of the earth, of the universe, of existence, have you traveled?

Have you met God, or have you denounced him?

What ghastly horrors, what heavenly joys has your mind conjured?

You make me feel burdened and tired.

the weight of thought must be onerous.

O, mighty Atlas,

though I cannot tell whether the world you shoulder is one of insight or ignorance,

whether you are lost or found,

I still see my soul in your eyes,

for we have walked the same path.

Many times, my mind has wandered

to the darkest corners of the earth, of the universe, of existence.

I, too, felt the weight of your world, 

but it was too much for my body of flesh.

I set it down, and walked away.

I see that you cannot.

And to know that you will feel its strain for an eternity,

that your mind will forever be trapped in frustrated, futile thought…

it makes my chest tight.

I weep for you.

I am sorry.