Lost and Found

by Meghan Feldman

            The world moves too fast; I come here to stop. Here, the air stills, and echoes of the furiously racing cars quiet to nothing. The strobing neon lights that turn night into day fade into mere smears against the horizon, and lie hidden behind the craggy cliff face. The overwhelming buzzing and humming of people rushing towards their future finally stills.

            Here, the world falls quiet. The stars glisten, flecks of twinkling light amidst a blue wash smoothed across the sky. The only other sign of movement comes from the gentle flickering of the candles, and the faint drippings of wax. 

            I rarely find myself here; life has its way of pulling people along paths than they would choose. I always yearn to return here, however. I hike up these hills after the suns sets. The table and chairs always sit where I left them, exactly the same except for the thin layer of dirt and sand on the surfaces, having been stirred by the wind. I set out the candles where I always put them, and light them the same way I always have. The thin tendrils of smoke lazily rise to meet the nebulae sprawled across the sky in the same way they always will, occasionally disturbed by the gentle urges of the cool breeze.

            From where I sit, I see the expanse of the universe. Everything known and unknown contained in a single infinite glance. I’m not sure how many people realize this, realize that all answers to all questions exist right in front of them. They scurry around, frantically grasping at meanings and half-answers, and shy away from the vastness above them. I’ve heard that the starships don’t have windows anymore because people don’t want to accept their infinite singularity; they only want to get where they’re going, and they don’t want to wonder why. People can believe that they’re the center of they’re own universe until they see the stars spinning along a different path. 

            When I first set up the table, I couldn’t figure out why I had brought two chairs. I wasn’t planning on bringing a date. At the beginning, I’d sit straight in my chair, ankles crossed, hands clasped, gazing shyly at the heavens; the opposing chair having been tucked neatly under the table. Now, I recline on two of the chair’s legs, my feet on the table, fingers laced behind my head, staring into the eyes of a lover; the opposing chair now has been angled outwards, an invitation to anyone feeling lost. As far as I know, no one else has been lost enough to be found here. Perhaps they’re too lost to find it.


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Inspirational ImageTable For Two by Brett Lewisby Brett Lewis

Pieces Inspired by this Image

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by A.J. Huffman

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