You
You open your eyes
early in the morning
when the sun has just peaked
its soft golden rays
over the horizon.
You stare at the ceiling,
tracing your hands
over the soft silk blanket,
wishing you could hide
from the coming day.
You push yourself up
and rub your tired eyes
with a huge, stretched yawn
and a slight frown
on your sleepy face.
You think of the bills
on the counter
and the job you hate
and the train
that’s always late to come.
You dream of love
and a happy family
and a job
you actually enjoy
and a life you never had.
You stumble into the bathroom
to get ready for the day
even though
you just want to hide
and sleep.
You breathe in
the bitter scent of coffee
drifting in the air,
a heavenly smell
to your stuffy nose.
You pull on your coat,
step out into the
cold, foggy, air,
feeling the mist
on your frozen cheeks.
You sit on the bumpy bus
next to a snoring
old man with glasses
holding a heavy backpack
to his chest.
You arrive at your
gloomy workplace
where you sit all day
and type and stare
at a blinding screen.
You finally finish work
when the sun has begun
to set,
casting the sky
in pink streaks.
You head out
with your soft, fluffy,
panting corgi,
his short legs scrambling
on the hard, cracked pavement.
You pass a puddle,
glimmering under the lamp,
a young woman’s face,
tired but bright,
staring back at you.
You walk at the park
and pass a girl,
panting and jogging,
with a jump rope strung across her neck
and sweat dripping down her brow.
You wonder,
‘who are you?
what do you do everyday?
what are your fears
and dreams?’
Who could that girl possibly be?
