The Kind That Makes You Wish

You're sitting on a wooden porch: One that’s cool enough to feel damp, But as you run your hand over it, Carefully enough to avoid splinters But reckless enough to feel soft scrapes, Your hand comes away dry. It’s a porch most would call ugly, But you look at it and it makes you wonder, And makes you wish it would never rot away. Your sneakers are pressed gently against gravel That’s loose enough to be noticeable, But packed enough to not mark your Already-scuffed, ankle high, faded red sneakers. It’s gravel most would call bothersome, But you look at it and it makes you wonder, And it makes you wish it’ll never get overgrown. Your lungs are inhaling cool, damp air That’s cool enough to feel refreshing But warm enough to feel like an inside hug: Spreading and blooming through your chest, Like dandelions decorating a plain field. It’s air most would call musty, But you breathe it and it makes you wonder, And it makes you wish it’ll never be infected by gasses. Your ears are filled with chirping of crickets, whispers of critters. Loud enough for you to recognize the local raccoon, But soft enough to feel warmer than a day’s cafe buzz. It’s noise most would call annoying, But you hear it and it makes you wonder, And it makes you wish it’ll never get louder or softer. Your eyes are perfectly adjusted, Having grown so used to the dim-almost pointless-streetlights. They’re bright enough for you to take everything in, But dim enough so everything looks still. It’s streetlights most would call meaningless, But you look at it and it makes you wonder, And it makes you wish they’ll never burn out. And suddenly you feel dampness on your face, Faint enough not to sting, But noticeable to feel that too-familiar ache in your chest. And you realize you’re crying. Crying for the wooden porch, Your scraped hands, Your driveway gravel, Your scuffed sneakers, Your expanding lungs, Your damp air, Your sensitive ears, Your street critter’s noises, Your too-lost eyes, Your dim streetlights. It’s tears most would call invalid, But you cry them and it makes you wonder, And it makes you wish That they would wonder and wish the same as you. But all they see is an ugly porch, Splintered fingers, Bothersome gravel, Old sneakers, Musty air, Deflating lungs, Annoying noise, Overstimulated ears, Meaningless streetlights, Overdramatic eyes, And invalid tears.