One heart, used, for sale
Looking through pages and pages of Craigslist furniture postings this
morning, I started to wonder about the stories behind the “for sale”
ads. Why is she selling that brand new queen bed, still in its
plastic wrappings? Why is he in such a hurry to move out of state that
he’s selling the futon at that dirt-cheap price? Why are they trying to
sell the car, explaining that they’d purchased a new minivan? There are
bound to be happy stories – marriage, a desired relocation,
graduation, a child on the way, as well as sad stories – children
moving away, divorce, breakup, going out of business.
Imagine people
ready with warm greetings at the front door, joking with the visitors,
flaunting their joy at their good fortune with an ease that, when
prodded carefully, could translate into a great deal for hungry bargain
hunters. Picture people masking the hurt in their eyes as they watch
strangers scrutinize their possessions, barter, argue amongst each
other, and finally haul away the objects that may very well be the last
physical fragments of a shattered dream. So don’t be so quick to judge
that gruff old man or snappish young lady who makes you want to stomp
away, muttering, “I would consider buying it if you weren’t so damn
rude” … who knows what things burden their hearts?
The lyrics of this song, which I stumbled across months ago, are
sophomoric. (I haven’t listened to the song, I believe it hasn’t been
released.)
But there’s one part that painfully resonates:
no one really knows the fire that grows
if i could only show you something real this time
in spite of all the emptiness i feel inside
’cause all i ask of you this time
is look beyond the things i said that didn’t shine
try to understand the shades of grey
all of my mistakes
and turn them into colors of a better time
it’s blind sometimes what gets me through the day
– Ken Oak, “Intangible”