Maybe we're the ones

who grew up on our iPads then

our phones,

the ones who teach our teachers

how to use their screens

the ones

who know each other's lives through filters

and think we know each other

We're eating lunch

and someone says your name

and he asks

how is she anyway?

There's an orchestra in my heart

that's playing just for you

and playing happy now

because they care.

My bluntstones are muddy

and kicked off

on the floor

my feet are tucked underneath me

we're on our way home.

We drive by the yellow car

that's too broken to go anywhere

but it's hill