Beautiful oblivion

I stared at the baby. She was perfect. Her father bounced her up and down on his legs, played with her hair and kissed her cheeks. I could only stare, for I was just a stranger, observing a scene.
I am a stranger, most often. I watch what people do to see what makes them happy, what defines their ideals, and what makes them smile. The father, who held his beautiful baby, had a sincere, happy face. He had the most content set of eyes as if his world had already been completed, filled.
In observation, I sometimes become envious of such beauties, of a child’s innocence, ignorance and oblivion. I envy the simplicity of an infant’s world because mine is complicated, and because my oblivion or confusion cannot go disregarded. I do not know what I envied most, the father’s contentment or the baby’s candid, beautiful oblivion.
And in that state of mind, or being, I left them. Once I left, I was back inside the sweltering car. I felt neither content nor disappointed, so I started the engine, and drove off, thoughtlessly.

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