For Language to Come

If you stand long enough at this bus shelter, it will begin to snow. The horizon that ends the road outward often feels like it will crawl closer, but it remains the same distance, the same traffic. When running on a track and the centrifugal force begins to carry you, and you feel as if racing the other user on the track is the winning solution, remember to race the track itself. The track does not move. The meditation of punching a brick wall is still a meditation. The moment you decide to walk, as the horizon is not far off, the moment you race the white chalk lines on the clay field you're running, when the bricks break before you, you find you the outcome. Place your phone in your pocket and sit back in the seat of this bus, place your head between your knees, and brace for impact. The scream of glass is only a second, then the peace of glitter as it becomes particles around you is overwhelming in beauty. You are the outcome. You are what made it this far in a single day, a mayfly's life-cycle, a work shift, several movies streaming in a dark room on a laptop, a cat's fur glowing. Turn the key for your flat and enter. Welcome home. Again.