If kindness was like sex

 Imagine if people treated kindness like sex.

Offered crudely, but frequent.

Worried about, but offered in a big swing.

Pursued with vigor, given often.

Given causally, without whim.

Though frowned upon, bought and sold.

Imbued in everything, suggestive, overblown.

We probably still wouldn’t appreciate it.

Location: Fort Myers, FL, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sunday Shorts - 5K on a Special Day

Her hair . My gaze is hard and long- awkward even. I don’t break it, well…I don’t want to, so I keep it there, exponentially increasing my creepiness factor. I’m not a fan of spooking strangers, even beautiful ones, but  the dirty-old-man in me quietly heckles, forcing me to bring my camera to my eye. I put my disturbing habit to work. It’s the one job where you can stare at whatever you want, and not freak people out. - I knew I was going to be at this event all day, so in the beginning I took pictures almost at random. The newspaper wanted general shots of people to compliment a write up of the charity run, but I always like to go a little further than my pay grade would allow. At an event like this, I could easily take a 1,000 pictures. The ratio for great pictures tends to be roughly 100:1, so it’s alway best to be safe. My relationship with SD cards grew since I picked up a camera. I never usually get so weird on the job, but my first great shot was of her. She was ...
Read more

Learning To Like Things

 I realized the other day how important it is to appreciate what I have. The came about realizing the important of needs. They aren't trite. They are necessary. They aren't excessive. They allow for comfort.  I don't know what comfort is.  It doesn't come easy. It's always temporary and short; fleeting and short lived; ugly and destructive. The comforts that I can reach are easy to attain. Maybe that's why they don't last. Maybe that's why I hate.  Soon I'll discover what they look like. Right now, one of them is writing. I hope my writing isn't upset. I've abandoned it multiple times. Like most things I've loved — I've done it at least once.  It's time for change. 
Read more

Rosie’s Her Real Name

Nobody tells you how to grow old- there’s no manual or any examples with all the details you need. It just happens. You have to figure out how to deal with it. I had a pretty, good plan- no, a great plan. I had a flawless plan on how to age well, but perfect doesn’t really exist. I couldn’t plan for everything that happened. Tuesday- it’s a random Tuesday since I’ve retired. The stew I mix in front of me bubbles. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it’s too hot, or maybe it should be bubbling. I haven’t received much instruction, but it’s been like that since I got here- not this morning, but since I started volunteering. There’s a smell I don’t quite understand. For some reason, I do the unthinkable and try some. Whatever flavor was there, it’s gone now, watered down to probably make it more consumable. I put the spoon back down and now see a brown tint in streaks of the pot, and for a moment I realize why the world puts so much sugar in everything. # The next day I return not ...
Read more