Visions.

I feel like I am duty bound to show them a good time.

My eyes, that is. After having laser eye surgery I can see everything, perfectly. I can see better than 20/20 and compared to before I feel like I put on Spiderman binoculars. My vision is crystal clear. Stars that didn't used to be there now appear in the sky.

So now when I spend my days inside looking from left to right within the 6 inch screen of my computer, I feel guilty. Like Spiderman probably does when he doesn't scale walls, or swing from his webs to save unsuspecting humans.

As I ride the train to work I have to look out the window. I have to. I sometimes look around and everyone else shuffling into empty seats in the morning rush and whipping out their phone which they then plug their eyes in to. The heat from the phone in my bag burns a hole into my conscience and knocks on my mind throughout the journey. I wonder what's happening on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. I wonder if I have any emails or messages. Was that my phone ringing? Is someone trying to contact me?

I let my eyes roam the visions rushing by. The trees are so crisp, the rising sun is a sweeping blanket across rooftops and apartment buildings and glows for attention on fellow passengers downcast faces, their electronic screens masking its beautiful beg of recognition. They don't know the sun is rising, that a new day is fresh and uncertain and just beginning. They're checking their tweets.

I love watching the harbour bridge and the skyscrapers appear across the skyline. I love that so much metal can be so graceful, maybe thats the act of the morning sun. A golden bath on concrete. I love how clear it is, no fuzzy edges or blurred guesses. The train passes apartment complexes bordering the tracks and I can see in the windows and glass doors, some place my eyes wouldn't take me before. Can they see me? How good is their eyesight? Do they know I'm not looking at Instagram? That I'm peering  in at their morning rituals?

I wonder what other people can see. I used to look over people's shoulders to try and read their phones, see what they were doing; it was a test for my eyes. Now I realise they would have thought I was just another one searching for clues of who they are. They didn't know that I couldn't read what they'd written, they didn't know my eyes wouldn't let me understand.

Everywhere I look I feel as though I see everything. I'm so lucky, what can others see? Some are just as lucky, naturally. Do most see blurred lines? Do many trace fuzzy outlines? Or does everyone just see Facebook.