There once was a boy, in line with 2 others, sitting upon the waxy sheen of a bench, waiting for the G(host) train. Their banter was scintillating, only to themselves. I took pity upon their translucent pretentious smiles; I vowed to stake interest in the more mature, the level headed, of their gender. Little did I realize…

4 days and the dead follicles coming out of my head were greasy, similar to the subway bench in its misleading appearance. A frosty night. Ecclesiastical walls are my shelter from the storm. A stalking figure finishes their cigarette and they enter. Perhaps it’s my empowering certifications, but I am not afraid to linger in their shadows.
Inside the barriers are thrown down; I share syndicalist dreams and am flabbergasted at their interest. Almost enough to believe in their ingenuity.

Time plays tricks, too many, too often, too intense. Singularly, they come in twos. How was I to know your brilliance would shine like the super-moon ; one which we are deprived of on a cloudy night.
Must I live as an overcast character, in fear of the inevitable time that strikes violently be?

Inextricable hands are still sticking. Since the day of our collaborative demarcations. We have reached a level of comprehension beyond the understandings of men. Because a man, you are not, and a woman I am not.
We are people trapped in opposing bodies, willing to experience the sameness, the thrills of sacrificial togetherness.

If we just spoke the words to allow for it. Until then I’ll burn every bridge mis-erected. And wear my title of non-importance proudly.