Do you ever have a moment
that suddenly it SLAMS into you
you are alive.
And seven billion people write the same story. You wonder,
alone in the crowded Seattle-Tacoma airport, if someone
will ever hold your empty heart like the man in a gray business suit
and the woman wearing a striped neckerchief. Will someone ever be upset your flight didn’t depart at the expected time, and give the bouquet of rhododendrons to a stranger. Will someone ever burst into a full sprint
upon first glance at you, deliriously happy that you are
home.
Will someone ever acknowledge that
you are alive, breathing for a change, wishing for a slow dance,
loss of insanity. Will someone ever, in the passengers
of the world,
notice you.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Do you ever have a moment
that suddenly it SLAMS into you
you are alive.
And seven billion people write the same story. You wonder,
alone in the crowded Seattle-Tacoma airport, if someone
will ever hold your empty heart like the man in a gray business suit
and the woman wearing a striped neckerchief. Will someone ever be upset your flight didn’t depart at the expected time, and give the bouquet of rhododendrons to a stranger. Will someone ever burst into a full sprint
upon first glance at you, deliriously happy that you are
home.
Will someone ever acknowledge that
you are alive, breathing for a change, wishing for a slow dance,
loss of insanity. Will someone ever, in the passengers
of the world,
notice you.
