Raindrops | Poetry

traffic lights

The cars honk restlessly and people are constantly groaning. The city throbs with chaos. I look around and my insides curl in. My head swirls like clouds from Van Gogh's canvases. Inside, there's a whistle of breeze and sway of sunflowers. Outside, the traffic thickens.

I do this, sometimes - press pause. I climb up to my head and let life unfurl. For a few moments, I'm no longer sitting in my heated car, whose AC doesn't work, stuck in traffic. I let myself evaporate with the heat. Dissolving into the air, I become winds, I become words. It's hard to tell who's the sky and who's me. We become one, bleeding our blues into each other.

Slowly, gravity pulls me down. It plucks my head from the clouds. Gently like a fallen leaf, it lets me sway myself in the wind one last time. Suddenly, I'm yet another person sitting in my heated car, waiting for the ebbs and flows of traffic take me.

The traffic outside starts moving. The lights turn green. I look within and my insides want to curl in and dissipate. I whisper, "Life awaits me, I must go." And home is only a street away.