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pastime-a poem.

Updated: Nov 19, 2019

sometimes my mind drifts out to the center stage to ask the golden leaves to dance. to smile when the sun finally says good morning from underneath the clouds with arms spread and chin lifted.

sometimes i drift inside my 1877 cappuccino. warm, just enough for a crisp sixty-something october morning. the leftover coffee kissed milk creates rims like age lines on the inside of my cup starting to convince me time might not be such a bad thing.

a man with a newspaper arrives at eight-thirty am to read and sip alone. is this his favorite pastime too?

i wonder what it might be like to be in love here be in love, anywhere, really. on the contrary, i feel a white rose trail up to my nose and poke me- taunting my tears from the passion i feel in this moment. maybe after all i’m still meant to be alone.

like the man with the newspaper. everyone has someone and my someone has me i think they have a lot of fun together. passion seems strongest when the presence is few. its clearer air without thoughts or expressions taking up space.

i smile easier. at the way old friends look at each other. a man with a mustard colored jacket laughs at a little girl he doesn’t know and pats her head. her mom smiles as they pass me. a puppy looks at me intently and i’m determined to win this contest. i do, you cute little loser.

chameleon leaves surround the strength of four brown, barked friends but every once in a while one parachutes to the stones below. i wonder is it because it’s life is over, or just to make room for a new one?

once i resisted growing up, i don’t mind so much anymore. every day i’m older their will be a dreamer in me. just, a little different. a little different is better, i think.

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