“Make sure to get a good picture,” says a woman wearing a bright yellow dress.
The next moment, I feel a warm touch around me. This is what I experience everyday. Another arm wraps around my other shoulder. Everyone wants to bask in my glory, for I am grand and beautiful.
I’m an important memory in many people’s lives. Clothes and hair fluttering in the wind are forever encapsulated on camera, but so am I.
Another moment when I can feel human.
• • •
There’s a new crowd, another typical day. On these warm summer days, everyone is running up to me. Although I’ve grown weary, I still look forward to their warmth.
A hand grips my waist. “I’ll miss her,” says a man wearing sunglasses.
Then, a warm hand rests on my chest. Though it sends a chill down the sharp edges of my form, I feel content. After all, everyone is laughing. They must be delighted to see me.
• • •
A cool breeze rattles the nearby trees. Its melody softens the ache of my lonely days.
But today, footsteps and chatter follow. A group of hardhats and bright colored vests, with tools roaring in their hands. Perhaps everyone is here to take a break and see me.
Yet, these warm thoughts instantly wash away. The world tilts to the side, and I feel the ground underneath me collapse. A loud crack and thud sound fills the air.
Did I really mean anything to anyone, if I was going to be discarded like this?
Where has everyone gone? I don’t know. For my vision is still blurry. Yet, I cannot say I hate this. It reminds me that even for just a second, I am honored they’d share a moment of their lives with me.
• • •
Lying on the ground, I hear a muffle somewhere nearby. It increasingly grows louder, until I recognize the sounds of a cry.
Huh? A hug?
Once a familiar sensation, now brings me confusion. My cold, smooth, rocky skin reacts sensitively to their touch. Maybe I’m all that people have.
Only when raindrops repeatedly fall over me, do I remember. This too, is a moment I can be alive. Though I will never know anyone’s story, I am once again experiencing what I’m so used to. I am there for everyone.
Then, where are their smiling faces at? Where are their tears and touches that once softened my hard body?
Even though it’s been years since my presence graced this land, the question still rings in my mind: Why am I always alone at the end of the day?
Destiny Ruiz (they/them) is a non-binary, Mexican-American writer who is currently pursuing a BA in Psychology at the University of La Verne. They are interested in writing about psychological struggles, such as grief.
Accompaniment: “On the Nature of Daylight” — Max Richter
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