Encapsulated

For three months I lay dormant.



I feel like my head had been wrapped delicately in cotton and tucked into an ancient wooden chest. The cloth is complacency, the drawer my fear.

I have very little to say right now for this, except that it is a trap all too easily fallen. Inertia, the Enemy.

It's lonely here, being holed up in this drawer without much indication of light or sound outside. In a way, it's peaceful. But you don't pack things away to keep them there forever. A prison is a prison, regardless of the original agreement or intent.

I'll feel the air again, see smiles and faces and take opportunities alike. There's so much to do here if you look. Sometimes it's just hard to see.

Tonight, the quartet on Castro pulled on my strings... Come here. Their kind, innocent faces are so different from the buskers you would expect to find on the hardened streets. I've heard them before, beautiful Baroque notes sweetly drifting out of patio windows and reminding me of my own beloved violin, tucked away in green velvet in a wooden box. Sleeping, somewhere. Just like me.

Maybe they're local. Maybe they're roommates. Maybe they're students. Either way they remind me that even the most unassuming person can change the lives of others, and as I lay ticking off the weeks in my cotton, it's all just slipping by.

Now.