Peace

We walk by you some afternoons, to get away from chaos and monotony. To find a place to breathe. This time, it's raining and I keep my hands in my pockets. My nose gets cold even though it's May.

I wonder what it's like to be frozen and unfrozen, year after year. I wonder what it's like to die and bloom. To be struck by lightning and drowned. You hear the train whistle and you breathe in the exhaust. You let the quiet woman push the sad man's wheelchair beside you and you feel the ash drifting from their roaches.

I like to think that, really, you are at peace.