Small.

I am in the produce section of an unfamiliar grocery store.
It is mother's day.
It strikes me as being a little crowded, but since I don't regularly shop there
I can't know for sure.
I'm aware it is a holiday and assume all of these people are here
for the same things as we are.
Mother's day dinner, or treats.  Greeting cards, last minute flowers.

I am surprised at how many flowers are still left, but how few cards.

I have a sense of unity.  We are all here for one purpose.
We're all doing the same deed.

I pass a man, who is on the phone.
We will continue to keep crossing paths over and over until we both leave the store.

His words are universal.  Generic.
He seems to be reciting from memory the contents of a card or a letter.

I'm struck with how it's all the same.  Always.
The same words.  Catchphrases.  Cliches.
It's all the same for all of us.  People.  Doing the same thing here, today.

It strikes so hard, the smallness of how we speak.  Spend time.
It's suddenly so disappointing.  Off putting.
How can there be so few ways to say what we feel?

These small words sadden me.
I am sad with my options.
I long for more.
I don't know them myself, or how to find them.

But I never want to trap, or be trapped in such a small way.

I will fight to keep seeing, to express beyond.

Deep.  I always want to go deeper.
More.  I always want more than what I'm given.
Being a human has always felt too small.