July 2018

May 25, 2019

The sun streaks the sky with a trail of lethargy and tinged shoulders.

Days passing in such a way that they feel both forever and finite,

Rubber shoes and saccharine smiles painting over the overwhelming terror --

Change looming overhead with the sticky palpability of a darkening sky,

The pearly clouds now like leftover ash on a charcoal grill.

I am rigidly in place.

I wish to rush home and shield myself in the comfortable fort of pillows and blankets,

And yet I do not know how -- what once was safe is now only temporal.

The leftover bubblegum on the bottom of my sole attaches my legs to the cement.

Limbo.

(i.e., the idea that I am neither here nor there, just painfully aware of either condition)

Petrified of running and yet recognizing that run I must.

Otherwise, I will be soaked -

my hair clinging to my face -

my dirt stained converse screeching and squeaking -

ink-tinged sentiments bleeding out each pore in a lackluster attempt at discernment.

But I can spare a moment, can’t I?

A moment to smell the petrichor and feel the sweltering air cool,

To close my eyes as the streets empty in preparation.

Am I unprepared or observant?

The first drop hits.

Realization.

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