Out here I'm out of the queues.
I am no longer comparing myself.
I love the bus stop.
I love the sun warmed curve.
On this high hill looking over the land.
Praying the bus never comes,
observing the single isolated trees,
How they perforate the sky's horizon.
Out here the sky seems bigger,
it's holding a conversations with me.
It gossips with my personal future.
Leaving me out of the details completely.
So I sit here on the warm curb.
The bus hasn't come in days.
And here there is no night.
Passing cloud sustains me.
The sun itself keeps me company.
I could live this life forever.
Just observing the horizon,
Showing gratitude for simple continuance.
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