Digress

Sunshine, every day sunshine, you wake with a song in your chest and don't recognize your reflection in the mirror, don't recognize the summer in October. Your playlists trip over themselves dancing and the voices that normally would occupy themselves with yelling at your feeble attempts to live lost their direction in the melee. You forget to eat, forget to sleep and go to the dentist but remember to look at the Empire State Building every night and giggle your thank yous. Some sort of magic tumbles about your insides; still, your poetry lies silent and you don't know how to negotiate the trade. I walked through sleeping streets in the middle of the night and spoke a quiet while with the city; when no one else is there to interrupt us, we have such sweet words together.

I am still here. I'm only off on a scenic detour and it's throwing me off.

But what good is writing if you haven't seen anything worth telling the world about?