Twenty two and nothing to my name.
Twenty two, you said it would change.
‘This number is just your age.
You’ve got time, buddy,
to rearrange and re approach,
and never be the same.
We’re still young,’ he said.
Inhaling on his cigarette.
But every step I take is another left behind.
‘And every footstep you take,
has flooded air with the dust you make.
Don’t you realise with every breath, you create?
Tiny fragments so minuscule,
Little creases in the air,
From your lips, ocean waves break.’
I noticed he grew silent. Then a smile traveled outward across his cheek.
’Beneath your eyes you lay dormant.
Gasping in endless thought.
Fights you could have fought.
Love you could have had.
Because you think too much.’
‘I suppose that is what it is to be.’ He said.
A shame you’ll never feel the beauty of what it is to be me.
To feel no weight on your chest,
to breath vast cool air to still the rage.
To be me.’ He grinned.
‘To feel such. Clarity.’