I've never been here but in day dreams.
I feel small to the sounds of the street
and the quite clink or dishes inside here.
I've sat with pen pointed at paper
and little ink eeked out.
The waitress smiled at me kindly, nodding along the way,
not having a clue why I've spent the last five hours in her restaurant.
I'm not sure either, honestly,
but I've been inwardly (deeply) hoping
that my fingers would lay guide to my brain
and take away my imagination,
set if afloat on the sky and the voices of the people walking by.
But all Ive got is notes on my hoped recovery
and the idea of plane tickets.
From inside here, in my thoughts,
looking out on the movement, the next things to my day,
I don't know anymore.
I'm going to move forward,
with the clink of my thoughts,
and I don't know anymore,
don't know what I am supposed to do
or why.
Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Jordan Shappell.
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