A brush- the tool of philosophy
She felt yet again indifferent to life and the world as she entered, Lost yet again in the physical world and the world of thought, she mused to herself she often did ,and found herself thinking about philosophy.
There was only one philosopher she had warmed to in her life one she had great respect for, and she didnt even know his name, she heard him when she had her first round with depression when all lights in her heart went out for the very first time, she heard him at 5am on a radio station.
He was no great philosopher, no great politician, not even a professor of anything he was a mere road sweeper in his sixties/ seventies spent near his entire life sweeping the roads he spoke of everything politics, current events, people, life with such warmth and wisdom. He loved his job because it gave him time to meet people and time to think, if one spends such a long time musing and thinking to yourself the you must become very wise, he thought life was taken too seriously and it was to be enjoyed while one possesses it among a great deal of many other things,
So here he was not trained not wealthy yet the most contented and wise man she had ever heard he had warmed her heart that night and here she was three years later still thinking about him as she reached for the brush with a slighter warmed expression, not quite a smile but not as cold and indifferent she wondered if he knew he touched anyones life that night? His little thoughts and sayings brought hope to at least one person. Sweeping is a job no one likes to do but he brought a whole new meaning to it its merely just time to collect thoughts, she smiled as she started to sweep the room and remembered a saying about Russian society during the communist times
Everyone assumed now that a man condemned for theft had been stitched up, a man condemned for subversion was a hero and a sweeper of the streets was a king of philosophy
She always saw philosophy and poetry as intriguing strengths especially in other people as she felt the urge to continue writing suddenly, she pondered this for a moment there was no point in picking up her fan fiction she had lost all faith in her main character, Galawen.
She once told one of her friends she had died of a broken heart, speaking abstractly of course Galawen was the character based on herself every author had one some kind of fictional alias with their own strengths and weaknesses just placed in different situations, she never wrote Galawen out dying of a broken heart but she perhaps should havewas to become a great sorceress though she hadnt figured out how apart from her intuition with children and naturewas part of her because it was her of course no one ever knew that. She shrugged off the mourning of her fictional self, Galawen died of a broken heart and no one cared that was part of the poetic tragedy of it allsmiled to herself lost in her thoughts yet again drifting in and out of real life she must have some sort of insaneness inside of her or maybe it was the brush-tool of philosophers like the old road sweeper, and Jiri victim of a communist society.
She walked out and looked up at the velvet ebony night, it was so very dark the stars looked enchanting she was yet again lost in the trance of her thoughts just staring up at the night sky caring not a jot about the thugs around her or what could happen after all what did she care of her own safety these days, the darkness was as black as her heart had become as black as bruises and the stars were her little ray of hope then she looked towards the brightest knowing it was Venus (as her dad pointed out) it taunted the other stars by being the brightest at sunset inside her there has to be something like that a hope as bright as venus something to hold on to. And once you see the brightest the dimmer ones are easier to spot after concentrating on it.
Lost in thought (again) she looked down at the concrete steps and laughed at her self in a half smile at her childish whimsical philosophys, knowing she would never grow out of it because thats what made her.
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