it's 3am and i trace a finger

against the icy glass of the bus window.

the city is a dormant animal, massive and muted.

across from me is a young man, dozing.

with hands old as the mountains

small wrinkles already etched like valleys in his skin.

his hands are dusted with soot

his wrinkles speak of labor and languish-

work that has snatched away his youth.

in front of me is an old woman, dozing.

weathered face awash with stories

of a grueling life lived-

body submerged in debt, head barely above surface

swimming towards survival.

to the left of me is a student, dozing.

glasses sliding off her nose

clenching a binder of unfinished schoolwork

a paper marked with a score of 92%.

try harder- the words are scribbled in the margins.

anvils press against the girl's crooked collarbones

i wonder how long it will be before she collapses.

i reach across,

sweep the soot off the young man's hands.

i reach in front,

press a few bills into the old woman's lap.

i lean to the left,

turn the paper over so its ugly, searing mark will haunt the girl's vision no longer.

it's 3am and i trace a finger

against the icy glass of the bus window:

take me away.

the city is a dormant monster, hulking and hellish.

most are trapped beneath its heavy tongue

most have succumbed to slumber, to the lull of defeat.

yet, i am awake.

bathed in melody and lighter than song

is adventure as it calls my name

lyrical and vivid.

a gentle lilt to its tune,

upwards like a question

an invitation.

electric thrill courses through my veins

shredding the strings that bind my heart

to comfort. i raise my voice- 

adventure and i become one. our songs meld in 

an effortless, irrevocable harmony.

liquid dreams staining the clouded horizon

honey-coloured swells running like ink

and me, the painter,

bounding forever after them.

hoping that someday, one day

the dreams will harden into reality.