The wind is no longer an enemy, but I call it
a precaution.
And the door does not hold opportunity, but inevitability.
And the floor is harsh with the rough wood
that once bore the name of a tree.
And my eyes are no longer blinded by a sun
that burns and warms my body.
And the night is no longer dark,
but a time for me to search.
I pick and search through patches of
what ifs and what nots,
And you watch.
And your feet no longer face me,
I can hear the loud slap of your bare sole hitting the bare ground.
The dirt is chilled, but the ice is gone.
You will not fall, so set you are.
And I do not feel the steady heartbeat,
that comes with what you call humanity.