scruta

My innocence, my freshness, my opening to the world is a vacant lot in the middle of a sprawling city of high-rises drowning the sky in concrete. Gnarled grasses worm their way around the cracked earth, cordoned off from the surroundings by high walls and chain link fences. A dirt path leads inside from the road, strewn with detritus collecting dust.

I walk by the lot often and see myself walking down into it, but never actually do. I always have some place to be. Still, the thought of being there never leaves my mind. It haunts me when I’m alone in elevators, deep in work at my desk or carousing over drinks in the dimly lit corners of the city. Though I never go there, I feel as if I visit the vacant lot every day.

I promise myself that it won’t be paved over, and no building will take its place.

I’ll chain myself to the bulldozers first.