he keeps thrusting a finger into the air
as if he's trying to point at something, but the way he curls it back around violently suggests otherwise. still, there he stands with one hand in his pocket (which happens to be more of a huge tear in his pants), staring intently
at the bronze statue of an eagle with the head of a man. i guess some seemingly artistic
genius thought it would symbolize the proudest of men or some such nonsense
.. it just looks like a bird with a human head on it to me. a shame, almost, one of the most beautiful, elegant creature
s on earth burdened with, arguably, the worst part of the human lifeform. how could anything fly freely with such a horrible mess
of a body?
i only wish i knew what you were thinking
as your eyes wander from me to the statue and then to something else. and i think perhaps i should slink off to somewhere more comfortable. you make me uneasy with that little twitch in the corner of your eye
that only i seem to notice. and your finger, still it jabs into the air over and over. am i just paranoid?
and then i see it too. i guess you'd just meant to point it out to me after all, my over-conscious pscyhe makes assumptions, i made myself uncomfortable
. the little feather that had captured your attention so effectively fell just then, or more appropriately, it floated to the ground
at my feet and you smiled then. the anxious, tense look about you washed away by something so simple as sharing.. the soft wispy
feather of a pigeon's underbelly, with a complete stranger.