i stood there at that bus stop
on the hill,
book in hand,
reading about the galapagos islands
and a sailor turned poet
who almost crashed into them.
next to me a tree bloomed into a fence;
i didn’t know its name.
i stood there at that crossroads,
it feels so long ago now.
but i felt the most alive then:
deep in that despair—with an edge of hope.
i knew somehow it would all work out.
i knew we would be ok.
but the desperation sharpened something in me
that will never be the same.