NoCaptainBown

An amber street light in the quiet close, You illuminate the leaves of the evergreen trees, Casting their fragility in a new light, While remaining underappreciated by the passers-by. This city is one where you can lose yourself, A patchwork quilt of architecture and greenery, The streets twist, turn and collide in a cacophony of cartography, Yet steadfast you step into the night. Sure of where you’re going but unsure of how you’ll get there, You thread the ends of your hair through your fingers, Partially out of habit, partially out of comfort, A commodity you offer to others but always refuse yourself. The willow tree marks