Son of a Bitch

That blink-blur again. Always when I'm looking at that one particular spot. I had been wearing glasses this time too, but my eyes still did the same thing. Like looking at dead space, or trying to watch your car's blind spot while changing the radio. My eyes just seem to lose focus, then blur with tears, and I'm forced to look away. I'll try again tomorrow, in the morning. Maybe I won't be so tired then.

I got an early start, brought my notebook, too. The park still had that same feeling of real, constant growth, same as when I started walking to school last year. It rained earlier that morning, before I woke, and the sidewalk was flooded with a soup of loam, woodchips, and cut grass. The sidewalk leading into the park was almost buried by the park soup, the mostly clean middle ground woven like a concrete trail, up the hill and towards that spot.