small atrocities

i came home today and thought about the small atrocities of life.
as i pulled into the parking lot i could hear the faint sounds of "silent night" being played in some apartment where people were celebrating with their families. i got out of my car and smelled the clean, cold air. the sky was black mottled with clouds; no stars, no moon. only the harsh artificial lamps and the oh-so-cheery glow of christmas lights. as i walked to my apartment, i kicked something and looked down to see what it was. a tiny branch from an artificial christmas tree lay among the piles of dead wet leaves. as i walked on, i passed more than one door with notes to friends, left unrecieved, the lights out, the windows cold and dark, their precious letters fluttering occasionally in the freezing wind.
such sad things, such small things. why am i so depressed that i see sadness in everything?

written december 20, 1999