these are stories about you (or someone else). only about you (they could be about anyone).
remember the sticky blue and pink of the popsicle melted on the sidewalk of the bus stop on your way home, how you felt like the sun might melt you down to join it, and you'd be a puddle of those same colors? you see a lot of things at that bus stop. these are stories about that.
remember how you breathed in the scent of lilacs like they were secondhand smoke, holding it in as you passed your neighbor's house and letting it go only when your face was as purple as the flowers? these are stories about that, too.
these are stories about you (and the other 7 billion people on this earth, and maybe more on others). only you.
YOU ARE READING
sonder
Poezjasonder - n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. they will go home to parents or husbands or wives or children or maybe just an empty room, and they will think about their problems the same way...
