I’m at blue carpet washing over dust bunnies and dog hair,
over unmade covers and freshly-shed tears
I’m at a place beyond crossroads
I have made my choice to not choose someone who chose me
I am at standstill
Watching the gray-white puffs of engine chugging away from me
My coach class ticket for two
smothered by my fingers
Someone once told me,
"Stations always make me sad.
They remind me of farewells."
But what happens when stations are also beginnings
and what if that’s sad too?
The vast body of sky is my beige, wrinkled ceiling and its press on my shoulder blades
on my sadness
is heavy as this breath I’ve yet to let go,
this uncertainty of staying put
while those who love you go on
I wonder if these walls can contain the noise
my heart is making
It sounds like birds singing
I don’t know if they’re singing for freedom
or because they’re free