sometimes your okay
sometimes i am

i regard your laughter as music
your smile. . . well that is something i cannot describe.
your presence, like the sound of crackling dust on a vinyl record

you. i. we were both held in the arms of our parents
you like i, needed to feel special and loved.
you. i. we will hold our parents someday.
they. like you and i, need to feel special and loved. some in their own way. like you. like i.

i was standing against the subway doors looking out as the bells rung and the doors closed on the 59th street train station.
lights in the subway tunnel passed like flashes of lightning in a summer storm.
we meet people on a daily basis that enlighten our lives without us realizing it.
or them.
they pass so fast. dashing across our eyes retina and disappearing into someones elses.
the train continued barreling down in the most nonsensical of manners as if shot from a 1776 cannon. it felt like the tunnel walls were the only thing keeping the train on-course.
we reached harlem 125th street. harlem 125th street station. stand clear of the closing doors. and before i knew it, we were again cutting through the darkness like a silver knife.
i did not get off the train that smelled of burning metal as the doors opened and closed on my station stop.
why? you may or may not ask. well you see, what is a home when the only sounds heard are the pitter-patter of the leaky bathroom sink, the arctic wind howling through tiny crevasses and the rhythmic breathing and beating of a lonely heart echoing throughout