Noise

It's so noisy. There's commotion every where. By the water its different. I escape by the water. But not because it's quiet. It's a different kind of noise. So I stay there. An observer. Then a participant. I put my feet in. Under the veil of water they seem to change. Of course they've always been as they are. But now a different filter. How can something that has always been, suddenly be so strange? Foreign? Or, simply uncovered? This noise is deafening. And I like it. I can hear them calling and that makes me want to stay more. So I stay. Part of it. The ducks come then and I welcome the company. I welcome them. We're together. For a moment. Then some leave. Then most. Then we are left me and one other. And it's quiet. For a breath it's quiet. I blink and he's leaving. I watch the slow and steady wake. The moment remains still. For the first time I am quiet. "Come back," they call, "you're better than this waste". And I think. Of course. I am. I am? Am I? I've known all along. That this was a distraction. So, I go. I take my feet, my plain familiar feet, no longer
mystified by the illusion. And I walk away. I can hear him, he came back. But away I walk still. And away I stay. I am better? I try to be "better". And the old commotion is waiting. And it envelopes me. And it eats me alive. So, I forget the water. Until one day I remember. And I go to the water. Of course it's there. It continued without me. It continues without me. I was never really part of it. And I see the ducks. And my feet I put them in the water. And I want the ducks to see me. But they don't care? Because they don't. And now I'm here. And I'm part of nothing again. Caught somewhere; always nowhere. And I feel cold. But I feel it. And it is then that I know: one day the water will win. And I'll be cold and I'll be quiet.