I can’t own you
any more than a man could own
the first rays of sun
trickling through a broken storm
yet some deep part of me yearns
to pocket the promise

deeper still, ringing with
the chime of a weathered bell
is your easy smile
on a crowded bus
and the wild burn raging
behind the weight of your eyes

words sucked alongside the air from my chest
at the memory of your feral gaze
in the hour we stole in a shower stall
where the creaks in the ancient limbs
of a copper grove couldn’t whisper
anything as important as knowing
what you give me;
of all the seconds of your life
you let those be mine


By Unteleported Man

sonder
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
-The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows