land changes so much in a small space but remains the same in our minds once repeated. solitary tree in a field reminicing of a forest.
woman sitting on her porch on her phone, oblivious to us
grip my music harder
my hands smell of the air at a rave
shania twain in the car raises her voice, press the headphones closer to my ears, hoping that they will fuse, leaving no sound to enter
they start to sing, voices off key, words off meaning, and i wish for a solitary room.
my volume is afraid of the heights i push on it
a wandering memory of you helps solidify the notes in my head, something to cling to
music is waves in air, energy. my headphones are stationary energy. I am energy everything is connected, everything trades its efforts
i am still not a part of this group. they laughed at the movie, i rarely smiled. the pattern of my air waves contrasts to theirs. we may be of the same stuff, but we don’t mix.
I am alone. I am not a part. They have theirs and I have mine, and though we share we’re happy with our lot. They don’t want my offerings, and I don’t want to partake of theirs when they have not wanted mine.
I am alone, alone, alone.