Not the applauded figure that everyone wants to hear.
There are enough of those,
And I do not have a good loud voice.
But the small person who lingers at the edges,
Picking up what the listeners leave behind.
The discarded flyers the illusions they wished to abandon.
The crumpled snack packages the food they found unnourishing.
The paper cups the empty dreams they hoped to fill.
Carefully I place these in the designated receptacle.
As I walk back to my room, I ponder them with a sigh and a quiet laugh.
This is a very good life.
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