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A sudden chilled breeze strokes the hairs on the back of my neck as I walked down the sidewalk.
I could see them, the people of this city.
They were everywhere I went, close to each other, bustling to get to where they needed to be. Too busy today to help, too busy today to stop, too busy, too busy, too busy… I wonder what it’s like. At what point would I become too busy?
Too busy to sleep, to eat, to listen to others, to speak up when I need to speak up, to stand still... Too busy to wait just one more minute while I listen to the morning news; listen to hear if the girl made it home, or if it’s another story of when the heroes lose.
Too busy to help, the old man so blind, by taking him a meal or telling him the time,
Too busy to see, too busy to not, too busy to hear what’s right and what’s a fault…
I could see them, the people of this city.
And a sudden chilled breeze stroked the hairs on the back of my neck, as I walked down the sidewalk.