The stripes in one ear.
But through the other, the music of,
timers, chatter, lunch dates, and gossip,
heels clicking across the floor, black, yellow and glossy.
Steam, glass bottles, plastic bottles, recyclable cups and coffee beans and nuts.
Hipsters...
Pomp and derogation and self empowerment your the sake of self indulgence,
and the who knews of what firsts,
and the ******* iPhones!!!
Everywhere looking out there apple eyes, winking at their older brothers,
openly mocking their lack of flash and exclusivity,
(secretly resenting their rarity, in a world washed in white).
Its the 3.
The 4.
The 5, 6, 7, 10!
Look how clean,
Look how much I payed,
Look how little is left of myself, as my own.
I am one.
I am unique.
I am original.
You are one, of a million others.
You are unique, in your perspective of the world.
That of a carriage horse with blinders, led by his driver to buy and throw away and buy again...
You are original.
You are.
You are unique.
You are beautiful.
But you are Nieve, lost in the sea computerized ******* produce.
So you,
you one in a million.
You unique flake of snow, with a pattern all your own.
Let me take you from this place.
To the beginning.
Where the apple got his name.
Where the trees grow fruit to eat.
And the only music is that of the wind.
And the water.
And leaves in the trees.
And when you feel, rather than hear.
You will be the thing you want most.
Yourself.
Yourself alone.
