Author Archives: H.C.A Agate

You can hear it,

When someone gets on a bus

When someone’s sits in the seat behind you

Their knees banging and hitting the

Back

Of

Your

Seat

Their bag jangling

The slight bump as they sit

They faint sound of their breath

Are you here to wait too?

If you listen closely you can tell when someone is

Getting

On

The

Bus

And,

In the middle of a crowded street

Where amidst the people

I have planted

My

Feet

I hear a baby crying,

Was I ever that young?

Young enough?

So young that I didn’t feel ashamed of crying loud,

Crying ugly,

Crying so the whole world could hear

Crying without caring what you think?

Was I ever that young?

You can feel it,

Every image

Every story that blurs behind

Your eyes

You can’t see it,

It drops too fast

Too quickly

And it soaks into your skin

So you can feel it again,

And again

And again

Every image that blues behind your eyes

Can you feel it?

And sometimes,

When I’m watching the particles of dust in the bright

Bright

Sunlight

I see you

Did I ever know you?

Am I supposed to?

I can’t bring myself to reach forward

So I withdraw back

Into at shell

Do I even know you?

You can smell it,

Like a tiny wave

Transfixed by you

For a plot srcond

Before crashing down

Over and over again

It repeats;

It can only hold itself up for so long

Or maybe it doesn’t want to

But it can’t help but be drawn

The tiny wave.

You can smell it.

Do I even know you?

Listen

.