Romantic

New York City sets a perfect example of it.

Thinking about the many lives of folks and happenstance and levels. Street level to train level. Right below our feet a series of important events take place or right above our heads. It would be an interesting intersect, if only I had better hand skills.

When we wonder what they are doing at this exact moment, if only to imagine their reality. Heavy heart, fornicating, writing, stressing, studying, eating. Many of the actions we take day to day. But it is romanticized no? If the situation were reversed, if we were to be thought about instead, their supposition that we were in lust with another, ignorant to the reality of our taking a dump, picking our nose, or changing a tampon – how romantic is that?

That isn’t even perception, its imagination. We imagine how someone might have changed, evolved, but cannot be for sure. Our suppositions being just as colored, wild, hasty. Self indulgent?