Beneath Covetous Shadows
by S. Marsh
The friendships of my childhood seem a vague memory, so many loved ones of my present feel distant. I try to present a stoic face to my everyday trials; daily banalities that we all endure more or less. I believe that for the most part, details of plot aside, I may not be that much different from you, or you from me. We attempt to synchronize to those that matter to us for as long as they matter to us and preen our own life stories obsessively to distinguish ourselves from each other. It’s about me. For you, it is simply about you.
We rarely meet in the aisle because we are blinkered, laboring introspectively. As we have developed the ability to disperse at relative whim across the face of this planet we have left many things behind. Our individualism has bred restlessness and cultural disconnect that has left us pining for support from well meaning, yet fair weather acquaintances and impersonal technological links to ‘home’. We want to empathize with each other. However, without the guarantee of reciprocation the risk of committing to something that may deepen our anxieties stalls the willingness to do so. Some balk at the idea of emotional support for someone else toiling beneath their shadows because their own weight is as heavy, and their grip as slight. Sometimes all we can bear is to observe them moving in the dark, as we covet what light we have left.
