His feet dangle over the edge of the roof playing with the turning point between solid ground and the abyss below.
The cool wind causes his hair to dance across his brow line.
The dimming sun warms the concrete beneath his hands, and casts deep gold light into his bright eyes.
He sits between the extremes.
Light and Dark.
Cold and Hot.
And he just sits there as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
To dance back and forth between decisions.
To balance the worst and the best things of the world.
And know one decision leads to one, and the other to the other.
And to not know which will lead to which.
And yet he sits there, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
I sit here beside him.
In the same position.
Between the two decisions.
And I slowly break, trying imitate his calm facade.
YOU ARE READING
A Dash of Lemon
PoetryThis is a bunch of random poetry I wrote. Key word being random. Some of it kind of has a story continuing from my other poetry book, (Backwards Lemons) but it's not super important. Some of it's insane, some of it's random, some of it's crazy, and...
