Asphalt + Distance

“how strange it is to be anything at all”

my kitchen chairs have seen more action than any kitchen chair I’d ever sat in previously in my life, this is remote working, laptops, plural, set up humming, message pings ringing from my jobs, plural. Autumn shows boldly outside the window. Suddenly I’m hit with the distance of my grade school parking lot, watching the short day pass as I stare from math class. The trees on the opposite end of the asphalt dripping leaves.

As I stare from my math class window I can feel the distance of the asphalt parking lot. The trees on the opposite end showing boldly. In the the face of the clock I know I’ll go home in twilight. Never knowing what the rest of the world took on for the day. The white track lines only loop in a quarter mile. There’s no path through the treelines. Only the looping white quarter mile. In a few weeks with only a few remaining leaves dripping glimpses of the road creep through. Cars I’ll never know going places I can’t imagine.