What if?

The sky slowly fades to amber and

the air is fresh and cold in your lungs.

Dry. Like the leaves that scrape against the asphalt.

Without the sun to illuminate their individuality,

the trees blend into a dark and shapeless mass.

It dawns on you then,

it's scary how easily we can all blend in.

And then a question dances up your spine,

through the back of your skull and

settles under your tongue.

What if?

Again you gaze at the fading light,

and the river.

The water a rippled mirror of silver

reflects the half moon.

What if? You ask her,

What if you went all in?

What if it works out?

And the moon seems to answer you,

Yes, what if it does?