i write my song to that city heartbeat

i miss the exhilaration of living in the city. the comforting chatter of thousands of voices, clatter of countless cups on countless saucers, ting tap ting of metal, cooling. in the suburbs these sounds come muted, packaged in road maps and receipts from the commuter train. our trains have no whistles, and the steady clack clack that used to hum in our blood is now an electric buzz that possibly (definitely) causes cancer in lab rats. an illusion of safety.

i want the city to bleed on me, color and light and that peculiar brand of vibrant, gritty reality in grey stone and red brick, wrought iron bars. i want to soak up other people's spilled coffee and half-smoked cigarettes, make myself a receptacle for their losses, their sweaty fucks and slow, nervous disagreements. i want to always be moving.

i'm too young, yet, to be this still.