I have fantasies of getting lost in this big city of mine. Of fading into the solid, brick buildings reaching the skies. Of mixing into the next passing crowd full of strangers faces. Blending into the stream of street water collecting in the gutters.
Sometimes I think about staying out until the street lights come on. Observing the night life take form. Watch it come alive. But I never do. It takes different types of people to contribute to the observers and different types of people to observe the contributors. Which am I?
I’ll stay the flower on the wall and continue to be silently insignificant in this happening place, with the distant notion that even if I decided against blending in, against fitting into the crowd, I’d still be invisible to this giant city that owns me.