the light is growing old in years, reflecting off windows that have seen too many cracks and too few sunny days. steam vents on the sidewalk whisper curtains of fog, whisked away in wisps by a glint that pierces straight through the heart of a cloud hanging right in front of your eyes.
footfalls of the many drowning out the standing still of the one that runs through everything in spirit only, paralyzed in thought on the side of the road.
open your mouth, not a word will come.
open your mouth, your silence will bring the world to a standstill.
only the storm on the horizon seems to take notice, lumbering through the sky towards eyes that are never cast on the cracks in the windows.
take a step, the world will open its arms.
take another, swept up in the river of the sounds of the city that never seem to pass away until the day where you dare to glance up and come face to face with a brand new light.