Mask

Corner of a bridge that arcs the bay. Three wooden sticks are inclined at an angle and they lean against a tree, bound by coils of wire. Next to me, a lamppost that seems to be taking its break. I’d like to feel its soft heat on my skin when the sky turns dark. I hope it’s beautiful, mellow golden light that cloaks the garden with a gentle glow. I’m beginning to like this place too much. Right behind my shoulders is a breathtaking sight. I study the pace of every pair of feet that moves along the bridge. And with vehicles above them, travelling in the opposite direction on a separate platform. Which the giant wheel overlooks. The intricate crossing of the wires meet at the pivot, where the sticker of a Chinese character resides. I hear voices, muffled little bits of a conversation. People have cameras tied to the necks, laidback hats that rest on the hair. I like it when people never pretend. When attractiveness exudes from an inner charisma they build from scratch. Scratch, being the mirror that tells them not a lie. All pretence will one day be torn down. If you’re reading this, I hope you learn to love being who you are. I always believe God has made each of us special.