I like to walk places
To feel my feet, the ground beneath them
Holding the wind in the cup of my hand.
I like the quiet time, and the alone
The stolen purpose of my time.
I like to imagine the accents
Of people who I've never met because they're not real,
I like to imagine them imagining my accent,
And that I am not real
That I may just fall through the pavement as I walk
Foot stepping down down forever forever.
I like the grey angles of my city home
The morning quiet and the twightlight buzz
I like familiar cracks in the pavement
I like to imagine that the pavement
Likes the familiar cracks in my feet.