We
don’t
genuinely
love
the stranger
on the corner,
on the television,
at work,
on the daily news.
We
get
used
to them
like they
get used to us,
to being liked,
to being lied to,
to being accepted.
We
wonder
why they
have it so good,
why we can’t quite get it straight,
why the stranger
on the corner, can’t get his act together,
why the camera’s won’t turn off,
we wander as they wonder.
As they wander, we wonder.
This reminded me of a part of the book I’ve been reading; Brothers Karamazov. One of the characters says something to the effect of “I love my neighbor in general, but when he stands before me I do not”
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Thanks for the insight, haven’t read it but will check it out.
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