Imaginary lives

Sitting again under the Brooklyn Bridge as I do from time to time, I observed a repeated image, a dejavu of death falling from the sky like a cloud of crows attending a macabre festival, as a lost idea.

And I no longer know how many of them have fall, between my spontaneous visits to the periphery of the river below this iconic mole, this radical connection that breaks the urban space through the boroughs, as they free fall as gliders without engine losing pressure in a vertiginous approach to water.

I can’t stop looking at the situation this time, this one in particular catches my attention more than the last, perplexity invades me, might be the suit I saw coming down, might be that although the distance I saw details of his face, might be that in this occasion and for the first time I stopped and try to analyze who could that person be.

Was this guy a successful man that had it all just few seconds ago and even this none of that represent a meaning in what was life, imaginary life full of luxuries and benefits, with a beautiful family and loving parents.

Or was this a transient spectrum, a homeless that could not carry on more misery, and with a confused mind could not kept coherent ideas and lost his way home.

Why he followed the path of the previous ones, as if it were a plan designed as a cult for gravity forces.

I see the Coast Guard approaching in an efficient and fast way, trying to preserve the body but it's too late, there was him rescued as a puppet resting in a dark corner of the theater, as a straw man in a burning cornfield.

As the lights of the boat are fading away, I turn my head up and watch the area.

 

And I wonder, why in such strange intervals they turn that way, challenging fear, are these evolved beings.

Who they are and where they go.