The City.

A city is not what, necessarily, I want, but perhaps it is exactly what I need. Endless noise and inconsequential chatter. Bodies pushing past each other to make it to locations you’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter. A boardgame land with moves to make or break. 

In one of many in a concrete jungle I can stand atop of balconies and watch the one across from me, glass windows with sheer curtains providing my entertainment. Long past midnight will I still find a light on and at any time of day will four wheelers will drive below me. I’d be one of many and I’d be okay with it. I’d be one of many and I’d be okay with it because I wouldn’t be alone. 

In said land of towers could I find anyone and everything. Young and wild and free and able to do what I please. Everyone will be doing what they please. Not a chance to be bored, not a chance to find life tedious, where neon lights up the streets and puddles reflect runny mascara. They leak through into your favorite shoes. But there is no time nor is there the energy to be mad. To be mad at a city so alive and responsive. 

Where everyone builds their own castle, out of bricks from the past and a finish from the future. The spirit of the city lives in friend and foe and you’ll find them everywhere. Growing and screaming and changing and breaking you apart before building you back up. 

In only a city will loud heartbeats and echoing whispers console me. And I am one to be consoled. 

Only a city will be a warm blanket to me on rainy nights where I sleep alone. Between the sun and the moon will I be sang to and hummed to sleep.