Stoplights change from red to green. Someone stops. Nobody goes.
It's 10 pm on a Saturday night and I'm listening to the quiet of a winter evening. Somebody's laughing beneath my window. Somebody's always laughing. I want to catch it in a jelly jar and watch it ripple in the vacuum, travel faster than the speed of sound – because everyone deserves to hear a smile.
(I've reached the moment before I'm falling. Life doesn't always give you the chance to jump.)
It's 10 pm on a Saturday and I cannot feel the breeze. I've never felt more winded. Somewhere on the shore the tide is breaking. The starshine's twinkling green. The moon is shining violet because today it's feeling blue. And orange. And gold. And silver's just like sliver, except the latter feels more hole.
(Yesterday I watched a man relearn to walk. He had to remind himself to breathe.)
I'm waiting for a sunrise, always waiting.
