homelessness

life of the modern hobo

I walked across the street. Like every other day. Well not neccessarily, when you don't have a home the streets never remain the same. They change constantly, like thoughts, only less fluent. These streets have jagged edges and off-white signs telling you where you are, where you've been, and possibly where you will be. Pedestrians become more rectangular prism like, less human shaped every day. People who have never been homeless will always say that it is the lack of people that makes me crazy, but that is because they don't know any better. It isn't so much the lack of people as the excess amounts that can truly turn ones mind. I am never alone. I don't have a door to close or a window to shut. The sound is always there. Talking, yelling, laughing, cursing, screaming. I hear everything as it echos off the buildings. The thing that gets to me the most is that it isn't all bad. I can hear a family eating together, I can hear babies laughing, I can hear the small thank you's from people who have been helped by a complete stranger. I know that someday I will die, probably sooner than most, but I live with no regrets, because I have dined with my family, held a laughing baby in my arms, and have thanked people for their randoms acts of kindness. No, those things didn't happen to me, but the truth is that they did happened. And nothing in this world is sweeter than knowing that happiness and joy and kindness exist, and flourish. No, I don't have a door to close or a window to shut, but I have memories of them, and that is all I could ever need.

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A very honest writing. Well written. Thank you for sharing. Debileah