The narrow divide

I could hear him struggling to say something, but I couldn’t tell what he said. At first when I realized he was lying there trying to speak, very weak, I thought that he was dead. I stooped down beside him to hear him better, and tilted my ear towards his mouth. He had given me no reason to fear him, but a curiosity of what this was about.

“I just wanted my life to mean something,And it pains me in my core that it didn’t.”

I knew not a soul in the world who knew him that could disprove him to whom I could hint at.  It struck me in my helplessness to regain my composure, at my loss for words to reply, here lied this unknown man who was so hurt, he thought the world better for him to die.  And there he did take his last breath and then cease, Right there beside me where, by now, I was sitting, the clenched tight fist let loose of the gift of a scarf someone hadn’t finished knitting. 

I sat there in disbelief before making the call,

How did he get to this point? What steps made this come to be?

There but for the grace go all,

That could have very simply been me.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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