Familiarity

Dead.

Just like trudging through a corn maze. Did I say trudging? I meant to say getting lost. Corn mazes are optical illusions for even the tallest people. I once found my way to the middle of a corn maze though finding my way back to civilization was a different story. Whispers of – something – the next row over…I’d swear children were laughing, but it could’ve simply been my mind playing tricks, or cornstalks swaying in the breeze.

It’s where familiarity breeds contempt.

I stood still for a few minutes. In the same spot. I’d been here before, perhaps three times. Or a thousand, I’d lost count. Stuck in maze of corn and stuck with the same sky. The sun didn’t move, neither the clouds, two more optical illusions. I hate staring at the same sky. It’s like being stuck in that small corner of New York and never seeing license plates on cars from the corners of America zoom by. I hate staring at the same sky, though there wasn’t much I could do about that while lost in a corn maze.

Sometimes we bend the rules.

It’s the way love plays. It’s the way life lives. It’s the nature of the human existence for those who allow themselves to walk outside of their rules and rituals. I’d had enough, so I picked a direction. North? Southwest? East-northeast? I didn’t know. I just walked. I walked through corn stalk walls and some bent, some broke, some parted as if Moses had stretched forth his hands, commanded of God to part the Red Sea. Whatever the case, I made my way out and walked to my car. Shaking debris off of my shoulders and arms and banging dried clumps of mud off of my shoes I started my car, pulled out of the parking lot and turned west on Rt.5&20. Yes, I knew which direction I was headed. I’d driven that way three times, maybe a thousand. I’d lost count. But I knew this time I’d eventually drive far enough to places I’d never been.

I hate staring at the same skies.

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