i sat at the window on the nineteenth floor
the cold wind touchs my skin
but it was so gentle that it left me wishing
i looked at the sky with clouds so white, like cotton
covering up the blue and the stars
i looked at the buildings
the lights that appeared in between all the darkness
of the dormant apartments
i looked at the lamp posts in the distance
so many lights trying to make the darkness go away
no one is really seeing me here
thinking in the dark
nobody is looking at the doubts
the sights, the tears
each of them is looking for something
anywhere but in themselves
they are too busy right now
they are also alone
and maye they aren't in the window or in the dark
or even looking for something
trying to find an explanaition
in between so many doubts like i'm
but they're dreaming while they sleep, or with insomnia
they hope
YOU ARE READING
encore en vie
Poesíathe fantastic never seemed so common, the beautiful has never been more equal, life has never been more ordinary, and I've never been so confused, so I wrote.
