piecing the puzzles | #7

1am – as you look out the window, to the opposite block, you’ll see a boy. hunched over a black wooden desk with a retro lamp over his head, he sits there furiously scribbling notes and drawings on a notebook. for five minutes. then he turns around and stares. you think he is staring at you. you think he is staring at the sky. truth is, even he doesn’t know himself. his eyes move too fast to stare. a few minutes later he is back, hunched over his table scribbling.

the pieces of writing, the pieces of drawings, the trips he take around the room, the ‘stares’ you get from across the block and the ocassional off-nights he has.

from across the block, these are the only pieces you see of him.

oh, there are millions of pieces. and there are thousands of puzzles.

he takes it all in, the pieces that is, and piles it up in that head of his. it keeps him up in the wee hours of the morning. it keeps you up in the wee hours of the morning.

you say he’s too much of a dreamer. you say he jumps from idea to idea too often, never able to settle down on one concrete plan. you say that inconsistency is his middle name. you say he’s not realistic.

oh, you say it all.

but

do you see it all ?

#7 – personne n’est parfait.