Its always so busy, yet so peaceful. Look up and there are airplanes crusing past, silent and graceful. Look down and cars flow, or dont, but their always around. Its strange, I just realized that its a bit odd to take comfort from these things like some people take comfort from a empty forest, a babbling brook. But I guess its all in what you grow up with.
The sunsets are just as perfect here in the endless burbs, and just as peaceful to those who populate them.
I dont see the milling mass as people inside thier little shells. I dont know if I actually see the people I see on the street ether. Symbols, little else. We pass, our eyes downcast. Were so compartmentilized these days. Layers and layers of shells.
They, at least, are transucent. If I could be like sunlight I could pass through them freely and touch peoples lives as easily as the breeze.
Or are these bubbles made of soap and hope? Sometimes you just cant tell how strong something is until you give it a little tap. Will it pop like a cold bubble?
There’s no where to go until were gone. There’s nothing to do that matters, so lets do it all. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t been said, so lets say anything. There’s no other game in town, so lets play. There’s nothing to lose, so lets risk it all. Oasis, lost.
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