I want to live in an age of letters
Of horse-carriages and cobbled roads
Maybe I glorify the past too much
But nowadays it seems we’re always in a rush

Maybe it’s me who’s changed,
And I dread to sound
Old,
Or pretentious,
Or out of touch,
Or Like I’m trying to sound like something
I’m not,
But the world seems a bit more superficial
That’s it used to be

The door has been opened, the curtains lifted
That which is unseen now I see
And though through my life I have drifted
In woeful ignorance of its majesty
It’s beauty unknown to me
My soul is now uplifted

A heavy, inward sigh,
As I stare at all the passerby,
Each with their own lives,
I wonder if they think of mine?

Do not worry;
They are footnotes in our biographies

Your eyes, they stop time.
Wondering if it happens
When you look at mine.