Life goes on,
Marked by constants we’ve created.

Bare walls,
Rituals of each day make whole years go by,
Streamlined,
Remembered as single uninterrupted days.

Mornings on the train,
Moving without moving.
Avoiding eyes,
And crafting this pretense of apathy,
Uncaring have been made a shell,
And underneath it, that great question.

That hope to be peeled,
And felt,
And forced into contact.