Reid@YWP

Four corners set each way, 
And I still sit in the box. 
The left could sin me, 
Right could win me, 
Front or back could block. 
I could become a famous tool, 
Or infamously triumph, 

Sometimes the drive home 
is just too good to end. 
The darkness envelops 
the road ahead, 
the road behind, 
the fields of either side. 
Nothing can reach me here.  

Aging is such a hard concept to get your head around. The world moves, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that you do too, in ways that are impossible to see or fully understand.

And as summer leaves, 
Fall sings through the breeze. 
Flowers start to wilt 
As the world tilts. 
Even as it dies, 
Nature is beautiful in all eyes. 

I balance on the ledge of my window, up 31 floors, back pressed firmly against the side. 

Sometimes, I will look below, and watch. 

And sometimes, it helps.