Across the Road

Poetic'ish prose. I guess.

May 11, 2015

The road was split out between two eternal, small beings that gathered moss or dust by the roadside, whistling away and keeping in shadow from the looming way between them.

They were across the road, and that meant that there was no commonality between them. No access, no understanding, no mutual feelings of respect or desire to get to know each other. It was empty between them, and the road was deserted.

Sometimes they stared over at the other side of the road, thinking about lost things, about the treasures they kept, the treasures they guarded safely on the right side of the road, carefully steering it in the same directions, not allowing anything to touch the no-man's land in the middle.

And then there were the treasures they didn't think about. The ones they never dared let enter their thoughts: The ones the other had, the ones the other did not share, the ones they could not dream of themselves. There is nothing in the universe they were more curious about than those treasures, yet they never asked—for asking would lead them across the road, and across the road was dangerous.

The constants were set, and waiting for an eternity for something unknown was exactly what they did. Their place across the road was a dead given, and they knew exactly why they were there—but not for how long or if the other was staying with them.

One of them might have glanced across at some points, but there was no speaking, no thinking out loud; no more than hasty wonderings about the other. They could not think across the road—what if the other was doing the same? Then we'd have to talk. And that's frightening. Then we'd have to consider each other's presence as something more than a being across the road, far beyond the divide we previously cared to cross. Then we'd have to find a reason to cross the canyons we lay in front of ourselves. And to do what?

No, it's easier to stay on the right side of the road.

It's easier to mind our own business, stay at our cliff sides and wonder what could possibly happen at the other ends of the ocean, safe knowing that whatever it is will never cross over here.


Kind of a simple one in some respects. Born out of seeing two people walk their dogs on two crosswalks across the road from each other, not looking or talking or acknowledging that the other one's there. I also guess I'm not really advocating that they should talk... I'm more just observing, really.
I like the more simple language throughout most of it, too. Even though it sometimes can seem a little obvious, I feel it adds a character to it that works pretty well. A sort of child-like questioning about the affair. Or am I completely wrong there?