The Flow
I am in a flow of people. They walk all around me. Their path is wide and appears smooth. I am walking opposite the flow; it is so hard.
A woman with long black hair and dark eyes turns to look back. She sees me and half-way turns her body, she almost looks like she will come toward me. She is tripped and she falls to her knees. She wearily gets up and continues along the path, in the flow.
I am getting tired, but I keep going. It is hard to walk against the flow, but it is worth it. I have a friend with me. My best friend. He helps me to walk against the flow. I keep moving; as I go sometimes I can run, sometimes I can barely crawl. But I keep going.
I see people walking past me. I see their eyes. Brown, blue, green, gray, black. There is a pain in these eyes, anger, hate, sadness, loss. A whole language by these eyes. If only we knew how to speak it.
A teenage boy is crying, but he keeps moving in the flow. A little girl calls out, but she also keeps moving. I try to talk to them as we move in opposite directions. Some look at me and move on. Some stop and and listen. Sometimes someone turns and walks against the flow with me, but it is not me that pulls them. It is my best friend. He becomes their best friend.
I keep walking. I stumble and fall to my knees. I start to cry, I need to get up. I need help. Someone reaches down a hand. Then many hands reach down to me. Large and small. Pale and dark. They help me up, pull me off my knees and set me on my feet. We keep walking against the flow.
It hurts to see the people walk around and past us. Some of them are our friends. It hurts to see them walk away from us, but they leave. Sometimes they come toward us, and walk with us. Sometimes they don't.
We are walking against the flow, it's hard, but it's worth it.