that I’ve borrowed from 5 billion years of evolution, unravels so gracefully at the sight of a dangling summer leaf; itself a by-product of eons of celestial convulsions.
Yet I, in my frivolity, cling onto this notion of a mind inherited from decades of socialization; always falling apart at the seams from all the he said she said talk.
Endless streams of ageless, electronic passageways stream across the underground platform. They are entangled with the musk of rush hour blending with hot rhythms busking out of a poor man’s guitar. Transparent screen walls of white noise ornament the scene, which is being flung frantically across the universe by the long arm of the Milky Way.
Yet all these little I’s, in their triviality, rush through the traffic to punch into work on time.