.jpg)
My head is empty. My
sight is fuzzy with artificial light.
Incessant noise has dulled my hearing.
The false-fresh air is thick. The
aroma of coffee is unattractive. Even
the open spaces feel crowded. Every
perception is blighted; every sense is blunted.
I am drowning in a haze of too-much-ness.
I hate it here.
Why am I here?
People wash around me.
They stare, unsmiling. They wait,
weary. They sit, unsatisfied. They rush; they loiter; they linger. We have all brought our living selves to
breathe this dead atmosphere. We have
each brought our yearning to a place of ghost promises.
I love life.
Can it live here?
Very very well-written post. It breathes. I feel it in the kishkes.
ReplyDelete