Drift

Like the crash of waves against a shore, so punctual, we lay ourselves down. Our measured, calculated awareness elsewhere like lost baggage upon these stations and stops we stand waiting at. Crossing from platform to platform, with our deceiving faces, we just fall, face down, on train tracks and ask to be flattened under the weight of an accident.

Every mistake isn't a lesson learned, but an encounter, a show of resilience. We start to wonder if we've been born in the wrong house. I feel as sorry for myself as I do for you.

Then there are those who walk with no intention of ever coming back home, but they end up even farther behind the starting line than before the race began.