Do we matter if no one cares for, or about, those things we do?
If not, are we not already dead?

It catches the wind and for all its flapping cannot move. I watch it silently. From a distance. From here it is unidentifiable: its only feature a pair of metronomic wings. Long seconds pass and we...

I see her before I hear her: a high-pitched giggle that catches the wind but does not stray. They sit close. Him with arms around her, one leg lazy off the concrete bench; she, head down hands...

There is that one moment when flying. That one moment. That singular moment when the wheels leave the ground. There is nothing graceful in how we achieve it. It is a brutal act. We fling ourselves...