Hoping for Change

A lost afternoon, minutes slipped through the cracks on the sidewalks, and evening came like worms after the rain. Time had a gravelly sting as it passed me, rubbed me the wrong way, left me feeling raw and bruised. The morning’s cool breath had burnt up and was now moist and heavy seeping through the windows. A few errands had been checked off, but the majority of the day had been squandered staring through space without thinking. Blinking and breathing are the main things I’ve done with my morning. A cup of tea felt empty without a sprinkle of sweet conversation. Haze hung above, the stagnant smoke still blocking the mountains from my dining room view. Blue skies and too warm air wrap around and leak in through the window. The shadowy coolness of the shade cannot be found in this airy home, and for the rest of the evening I sit alone, turning my thoughts over every quarter of an hour hoping for some change.