I wrote this in May. Today, I’m sitting at the same table in the same coffee shop. I stared at the same lights for a long time, but I swear they’re not flickering.

Speak

The lightbulbs in this coffee shop flicker like a cigarette lighter
And the people here do too. Their voices saunter in and out
Of ears in the same way newcomers search for seats.
They are here. And the walls are green, and they see the same
Lights as me.

We breathe the air of dusty books and crooked portraits hung on string.
I can’t believe that anyone perceives the flicker of the bulbs like me
And we may speak but we don’t see how similar our anxieties have been.

We breathe and eat and sleep and speak but we don’t see how similar
Our anxieties have been.

Stay gold,
Sabrina