Faith

He walked out of the three-story building.
Red bricks cemented together.
Small, gray front and back door.
Rectangular front, side and back.
No windows anywhere.
It was hard to notice when or how it was made.
But he noticed.
He realized that the bricks were crumbling.
If he applied pressure to one of the bricks with his hand, it would fall apart
like wood that was sitting in a furnace for hours.
As soon as you touched it, it would collapse into the air like mist.
He noticed, realized, acknowledged, and accepted it.
And yet, he walked on.
He headed for the park for a walk.
He passed by dogs walking their owners, kids dragging their parents, and couples pretending to be in love.
It was a normal day.
The sun was shining, and the sky was as blue as the color of his lips, and the clouds as white as his skin.
But he brushed it all off, and thought:
It was a good day.
He kept walking, and treaded across the tanning grass.
He stepped on a couple of empty anthills and insect skeletons.
He stopped when he came across a dead robin, lying there amidst the relentless weeds and pesty flies.
Next to it, lay a dismembered nest, flipped over, sprawled underneath one of the robin's wings that was spread out to blanket it.
He slowly lowered himself to his knees, eyes wide with broken emotions.
His hands were trembling, as he mechanically
reached out his hand to turn over the nest.
Like uncovering a body, he slowly and carefully lifted the wing.
He quickly flipped over the nest.
Underneath, he discovered broken pieces of eggshells, shattered, everywhere.
As if they had exploded, the pieces lay in-between the crevices of the nest.
But there were no signs of death, or remnants of the lives of these templates of design being cut off or cut short from entering the world; making their grand entrance.
That was their grand entrance.
Suddenly his vision was blurred, and one small insignificant tear rolled down his cheek and splashed the top of the robin's head.
He looked up, and saw a naked tree; uprooted and collapsed onto its side.
A statue, frozen in time, disrupted abruptly, and tipped over while leaving its roots paralyzed into the air.
Behind the victim, a tractor was sitting silently; its mouth ajar and yet still.
He sprung to his feet, and the blood rushed to his head.
His vision wasn't steady, but his motive was.
He walked swiftly and with too much intention, towards the ugly thing.
He climbed in, with a wild rage in his mind, turning the key.
He drove it down the path in the park, treading on a million dead bugs and abandoned anthills, past the kids misbehaving,
the untrained dogs, the unhappy couples, and down the street.
When he got to the three story building, he hesitated for one split second.
But that split second felt like hours upon hours of contemplation.
The last click went off, and he plummeted forward into the delicate, decaying construction until every piece of ash had floated down
to the ground on the pile of rubble.
He shed himself of this costume, and he stood up panting from his impulse.
He took a deep breath, and blew with all his might.
All these particles flew into the air, and started drifting into the gray sky, like balloons departing without prevention.
All that was left was the solid ground.
He spent the rest of his days rebuilding a mansion,
until it actually, finally,
became his home.