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
.
H.C.A Agate 