The Buildings On The Street

I don’t appreciate your eyes not finding mine as we pass each other on the street. I wanted to smile slyly as you stopped to read the headlines on the front page of the morning paper. Hot coffee would fill my sagging heart this warm morning if only they would understand. If only you would see how impressive you are. You don’t want recognition, though. I must admit I don’t know how to compliment you. In that blue dress with interest and concern you look closer into your bag. It is leather and shiny. Looking for change to purchase the paper. If find it interesting that you find interesting so much of the world. How can I tell you that? Society is alive and aware, I feel dead, somtimes. Yet, seeing you this morning makes me want to continue down the street. I greet the sunlight straining to be seen between towering legs and torsos which scrape the 8:26am sky and reflects clouds and runs all over us. I would like to know what you were thinking when you awoke today. Was it a good memory? An encounter with an old friend over drinks on a bridge watching water pass underneath gurgling like a baby? Our dreams, I’ve heard, are all of what we entertain ourselves with. Imagine I was beside you earlier on the train. I would liked to have known what kind of music you were listening to. I’m interested in interesting people. Especially people who reflect the sun off their faces more brilliantly than the buildings on the street…