the author chose not to give a descriptive title.

As I walk down wide roads and dull halls, I see people scattering in different directions.
Then it occurs to me.
They are all headed somewhere.
They all have a purpose.
They have a destination.
A plan.
A path.

I too have made my own plan, chosen my own path, and decided my own destination.

My hands smell gorgeous. Like cigarettes, or nicotine, maybe. Not that I've been smoking... they just smell like it. Does nicotine even have its own smell?

I once heard a song about the city having sex with itself, how the concrete breaks with the movement, the erosive power of it all.

Nothing to hear but the voices of others. It's interesting. and very calming. Calming to know that you are surrounded by others. I listen to their conversations all the time. Conversations about what shoes they bought, or what their mother made for dinner the previous night.

Sometimes, it sucks to want things so bad.

No one to connect with.
Alone.
I'm surrounded by thousands of kids but I'm alone.
Alone in my mind.
Alone in my spirit.
Just alone.


~RS
August, 2004
Used With Permisssion