There’s only so many streets and so many lights. And yet, they all seem infinite.
7:30pm. The darkness encompasses me. The smoke runs for miles and miles and there’s nothing to see. But, I still keep watching.
The vague outlines of branches lie at every corner. The strings of bulbs illuminate the edges, faded. Somehow they blend in so seamlessly that everyone else somehow overlooks the beauty in the imperfections. And yet, I almost never do.
The stalls are overrun in the crowded streets, the colorful signs all shouting for attention. A sealed plastic bag, a torn note and everything is complete. Somehow the exchanges occur so often that everyone else overlooks the jagged edge of tape holding the note together. And yet, I almost always do.
There’s chaos, there’s them. There’s silence, there’s me. Behind the glass window, watching as it all speeds by. I see it all. The flicker of the lighter warming the air, the woolen blankets intertwined together, the tears staining the pavement. And yet, I move too fast to stop. If only blurry scenes were a little clearer, if only the air a little warmer, if only the day a little younger. I wouldn’t be an almost then.