It’s the little miracles
I'm all alone, and I imagine :
Watching gold drip from high-rise skyscrapers during golden hour,
Walking lazily on terraces and watching the skies change above me,
Taking the train to the last station on the line, and never wanting to go home again,
Immersing myself in novels from dawn to dusk and never looking up again,
Indoor picnics, where I'm eating watermelon & leaving seeds for sparrows in my balcony. And I'm also hoping the sparrows don't choke on them.
Falling asleep in the spring afternoons & waking up when the evening orange glow reaches me,
Losing myself in the heavy monsoon rains; enjoying the pitter-patter, the serene silence and the greyness of it all,
Stepping in the soft dirt, and leaving my prints in places. Before light drizzles wash them away, I know that I left a mark somewhere...even for a moment,
Packing myself a few sandwiches and going somewhere at night,
Sitting on sidewalks, watching vehicles go by.
Letting the cityscape look at me with bright lights, and not being blinded by them.
I'm still all alone, and I imagine :
That this time, I'm not scared of what tomorrow brings. The little miracles have kept me going. They always will.