You pass me by as I disembark. Another statistical blip indicating decreased commercial demand. And from this moment, I can extrapolate your future and your past.
The morning you ran out of milk
The pervading warmth of that blissful day at the beach
The night you found him with someone else and were unable to say a single word
Laughter in a dorm room about nothing at all
I see how the city got smaller. You lived in circles that turned into well-worn ruts, hemmed in by money, time, and responsibility. Soon you will drag a sullen child from school to another place he doesn’t want to go. Eventually your hair will stop its flirtation with the wind and resign itself to a fading fate. But I won’t look any further. This way I can still imagine the smile of pure childish delight I hope will one day cross your face again, and again.
