By Mac Guerreiro
She holds me like a young mother, tightly, but not so much so that eye can’t breathe. She cares yet she has no clue what she’s doing. Perhaps a dangerous combination, but we must remember that at one point the children become adults and they can no longer blame a young mother or an absentee father. There comes a time in which we must take responsibility for our own healing and it’s funny to me that my deepest healing is happening in a city of broken souls.
The patchwork eye am creating to put my fragments back together is being completed along side many whom are so unaware of their fragments that they go around believing they’re at the mercy of the world. Is that not ironic? Although, in light of its shadows this city has its fair share of radiance.
She glows, not only with electric lights, but the electric vibes of those whom occupy her. She smells of hope, love and life force. She may be young, she may not know what she wants or what she’s doing but she cares. That’s why those of us interested in mending our broken parts come to her: for her snug embrace, for her warm lights, for her lust for life. We come because she cares.