Sometimes it's hard

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Sometimes it's hard to understand things, to imagine them.

Events in history seem to be stories from a familiar book.

Those who have gone before us seem like characters from a fairytale.

Sometimes it's hard to give them the respect or admiraiton they deserve.

They were alive and breathing, heart pumping, muscles flexing, minds racing, hands touching.

Hands touching my hands.

Heart loving my heart.

Mind wondering about my mind.

Now my mind searches in the far away corners.

Looks in the faces of strangers in a crowd.

Unrecognizable--so what am I looking for?

A certain something, of course.

Sometimes it's hard to understand why.

Or how.

Or when.

Sometimes it's hard to know that they know more than you will know.

Sometimes it's hard to look in their faces and not feel anger and jealousy.

Sometimes it's hard to think about not thinking about it. 

Sometimes it's hard.