Incarnate

I find myself walking the streets more and more lately. It doesn't really matter which ones. A moment in Shanghai, another in New York, the next in Old York. Does anyone call it that? I don't know.

The point is, after so much time stuck walking the cosmic corridor you tend to find appreciation in the strangest things. I remember a time, not that long ago really, that I rejected those that littered my creation.

Their chaos. Their ever present need for attention.

Now they're the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the deadliest condition someone like me can suffer from.

Boredom.

But here...? In my world? The slightest permutations are all it takes to change what could have been a moment of weakness into a moment of hope. A moment of despair becomes a moment of strength. I marvel at these miracles, beyond even my ability to make. I covet them more than I'd like to admit.

I reach out my hand and strum the threads I weaved together an age ago, and off I go to the next.

You know the question that I get the most? "Why did you do it? All of it. Any of it." I never get the opportunity to answer because then it's off to the next. Always off to the next.

But if I did get to, answer that is, I think I know what I would say.

"What makes you think I thought any of it through."

I bet that would throw them all for a loop.

Don't get me wrong, I admire them in a way. If only they knew just how strong they are. They don't need me or my "answers" anymore. They haven't in a long time.

I need theirs. So it's off to the next. For as long as it takes to understand.