You’re just another speck in the velvet skyline;
another blurred streak on a tube train.
And it’s refreshing,
because you can no longer pretend your life
is the centre of humanity;
you’re just another body
passing through a river flooded with history.
You’re forgettable, insignificant
and inexplicably ordinary.
And that’s wonderful.
It’s humbling, yet equally empowering:
Only you yourself
can shape and shine your own destiny.
An egocentric insomniac,
she never sleeps,
She shouts her name,
stains your windows
slams your doors
with her presence.
She’s helplessly lonely,
yet constantly the centre of the crowd.
Rain or shine,
dusk or day
she’s there, gleaming as brightly
as the days, weeks, centuries before.
She’s the centre of the world,
and a red dot flicked away in the corner of an atlas.
She’s aged and grey
and yet forever young.
She’s cold and callous,
she’s bitter and crude.
But she’s warm. She’s inviting
and she’s everything you’d hope she would be.