In the noise, the quiet of all the sound,

I notice the small things that happen quickly and with great force.

The thousands of choices, all witnessed now in this moment. The rhythm of the way your hands sway back and forth. The tan line that gently caresses your finger, a thick band of color missing. This is new.

You eating alone in a corner, glancing self-consciously around as you, pausing with your fork in your hand, stabbing at the pieces of your salad, reaching across the aisle to clean the glasses of a child. You take a bite, and pause wistfully. People look confused, everywhere. Lost, looking, searching for something. What could this be?

Purpose. It is one of those words that people throw out, without considering. What does it really mean to discover purpose?

Is it a way to get through each day, a reminder that cascades of pain and joy are more than just the random and rapid firing of neurons?

Choices, the sports that we play, the way we present ourselves to the world, the tone we choose to use to talk to that loved one, or one who isn’t loved anymore.

Above all, recognize that these are precious, worthy, of respect. It is easy to say, yes?

There are those that grasp for kindness, who have known nothing but the explosiveness of life, the bitter let-downs of what love was supposed to be. So now this crazy idea, are people put in your life for a reason? Do you have an obligation to love people? To at least put forth every good faith? To take the opportunities that seem like curses at the time? I never considered that it wasn’t you, but maybe it was her.

I don’t believe in coincidences.

I hope that this game, whatever it is, ends in victories for every party involved. I hope that this is something that you hope for, strive for, and in the end the winnings are split into things that you never expected to win.

Surprise.

Take the fireworks and split them into each individual ember, watch it thrive and live and flare into sparks. Taste the colors with your eyes, feel the warmth and be a part of the moment as it happens. Remember this as it is happening, click. Take a photograph.

The edges sharpen and then soften. The sound cracks in the air mili-seconds after you hear it. You have your hand, a little sweaty perhaps, safely cradled in your love’s hand. He strokes it gently, feeling the same thing at the same moment that you do. The sparkles and sizzle, the frothing billowing edges, the sticky air, the way the embers are dying in their beauty. The living and dying and the way that these things seem inextricably linked. And as you savor this moment, you don’t let this simple thing ruin you. You guard your soul and your soul’s happiness with vigor. “Baby, just breathe,” you whisper.

This now is yours, and no one can take it from you.

This war was fought in whispers.

She whispered something, conspiring to make her unlikely enemy fall.

One hand cupped, around the faceless face next to her, gently

like it might have been a kiss; under different circumstances.

And more than all the guns or knives

this whisperwar

destroyed more than could be rebuilt

bricks and mortar

would not salvage reputations or mend the trusts

the shadow of doubt cast

like a dove flitting across a white cloud--

was it really there?

A possibility is now permanent in all these minds.

Truth or truths or lies; the brilliant opponent has now made everyone

Lose/ The Lost.