do you know what it’s like to be brown?

every once in a while he asks me, one of the boys, how it feels. it never fails that i laugh and turn the question back round to him. he laughs in return and never answers. it’s our silly thing.

unless someone points it out, i don’t think of myself as colored, brown, black or minority. how limiting would it be to think of ourselves in specific hues or particular views?

it’s the same with emotions, opinions and ideals. they’re as permanent as others might believe but actually as temporary as skin. fleeting detachment is responsible for footstep’s wings just as fleeting attachment hovers over ground, fault lines and inescapable movement.

laughing and crying reveals effort worthy dedication, the kind blessed by priests in temporal robes and assumed insight. if there is any question i wished to have asked, it would have been

“who absolves the criminal that speaks to god in his or her cell and who absolves the men or women that put them there?”

do you know what it’s like not to be brown?

no. no one knows what it’s like not to be anything.

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