Airport Fashion
.01
It's loud, and there are people everywhere. They have places to go, lives to lead. It's so noisy and crowded that if one wasn't looking, wasn't there for the sole reason of seeing him, you wouldn't even notice.
He is trying so hard to mimick the footsteps of his manager in front of him. And he looks like a little boy that isn't quite tall enough to make it through the snowbanks without jumping between the footprints that his father had stomped down before him. So helpless all on his own. His shoulders are slumped and his head is downturned in such a way that it seems he's given up hoping for today. Tomorrow, maybe the light will come back, but for today, his feet are all he looks at.
There are cameras flashing, reflecting their gazes off of his dark sunglasses. The sunglasses whose only purpose is to hide his tired eyes from the world. Maybe they're red from crying; maybe they hold dark rings from sleepless nights; maybe they are just too broken to be of any good to anyone. The pictures on those cameras will show a lost little boy, sticking close to the back of the man in front of him, trying so hard to not be noticed, but never succeeding.
And he is so broken down, so alone. He keeps walking, pulls his lip between his teeth, and presses on. Because he is who he is, he will always press on. The world looks so big and scary through his wounded eyes. But the little boy keeps walking.
He is trying so hard to mimick the footsteps of his manager in front of him. And he looks like a little boy that isn't quite tall enough to make it through the snowbanks without jumping between the footprints that his father had stomped down before him. So helpless all on his own. His shoulders are slumped and his head is downturned in such a way that it seems he's given up hoping for today. Tomorrow, maybe the light will come back, but for today, his feet are all he looks at.
There are cameras flashing, reflecting their gazes off of his dark sunglasses. The sunglasses whose only purpose is to hide his tired eyes from the world. Maybe they're red from crying; maybe they hold dark rings from sleepless nights; maybe they are just too broken to be of any good to anyone. The pictures on those cameras will show a lost little boy, sticking close to the back of the man in front of him, trying so hard to not be noticed, but never succeeding.
And he is so broken down, so alone. He keeps walking, pulls his lip between his teeth, and presses on. Because he is who he is, he will always press on. The world looks so big and scary through his wounded eyes. But the little boy keeps walking.