Bethesda Fountain, Central Park, New York City. Hundreds, if not thousands of people walk by here each day. Each one represents a different story. Each their own philosophy, a unique way of looking at the world.
A teenage girl sits, contemplating her math homework with a group of her friends. Although really their conversation is more about boys and life in general. When the topic does turn to the work at hand, it is more about the unfairness and difficulty of it. The girl is not yet of the age to be overly concerned about these things, but still, she struggles with her grades and in the back of her mind wonders what she is going to do after graduation.
A young boy happily runs after a bouncing ball, chasing it as it splashes into the fountain. He jumps in after it, loving the cool water on this warm summer day. He is young and innocent. He loves life, and everthing that it has had to offer thusfar. He doesn't have a care in the world. He is nieve perhaps, and still ignorant about the ways of the world, but he doesn't know this.
The boy's mother chases after him. She, in contrast, is far from carefree. She is single, and raising the boy on her own. She wants nothing less than for her son to be safe, and feel loved. She wants him to learn right from wrong and to always do the right thing when he grows up. The only thing that she wants for herself is to someday again find the kind of love she once had with his father.
A young lady jogs past the scene. She is in love, and is happy in that regard, but she has other concerns. She is unemployed, and with the current state of the economy she is worried that it will stay that way for some time. She does not want to return to her parents and give up her newfound freedom. Besides, she knows what a burden it would be for them.
An elderly German Jewish man sits on a bench. Although he is old, he is not afraid of dying. As a child, he had already been through hell. Soon there will be no more left of his generation. Soon his story will be lost to the world. But for now, he is content to sit and watch the others.
So many people. So many minds and perspectives. One could go on watching for days. So many stories. And yet, they will all end. Every one. Some happily, some at least conclusively, poetically, still others on cliffhangers, unfinished. But most all of them will be lost. And of those that will be remembered, only a small fraction of their lives will be preserved. It seems such a waste.
I wish I could save them all.