The sky is so bland in the cities.
To be fair,
people in cities don't look at the stars;
they pace around, drink fancy teas and coffees and settle.
To soft melodies last night,
as I swayed on the terrace watching meteors fall,
I felt a little stupid.
How dare I ―
ordinary mess, chubby thighs, arms and toes, drinking cheap tea and wine, indecisive, unauthentic woman,
dance in the middle of the night, on a terrace as if,
the protagonist in a romantic, indie film?
Protagonists don't look like this or think like this.
Protagonists live in cities,
wander, drink fancy teas and coffees, look for love
and find it
behind strands of hair pushed behind a ear, dainty ankles dangling from chairs at cafés, artiste, running at the beach
or whatever they may have romanticized.
The lights and their eyes
are sparkly and dreamy,
here in the cities.
Yet,
the sky is bland
and they don't look at the stars.