Hanging on tight
As life passes you by.
Blurs of street lights
Through your car windows.
Colours and sounds
Buildings abound.
Forgotten people
In a sea of crowds.
Stop at the fast food restaurant
Order the number five.
Call your best friend
On your way in to work.
Slow down to watch
As you go by that horrible wreck
Then speeding up again,
Lest you'll be late.
The hours go by
Speeding like seconds
To my eyes.
And so here I sit,
Watching and
Looking,
Sighing and
Thinking,
As you go on,
Hurrying through
Your everyday lives.
Harry sighed and set down his quill. The poem was dark and dull, just like he felt. The loss of Sirius had made him pause, take a step back, and recognize the finer things in life. Like the way the breeze shifted in through his window, ruffling his crazy hair. Or the way the feather in his hand had intricate little stripes of various shades of grey that seemed almost to have been in the middle of a dance when they were frozen in time. Or the way his parents, Sirius, and Professor Lupin all laughed together in the picture on his desk, happy even without Peter Pettigrew, whom Harry had cut out. And then there was the way-
"Boy! Get down here and make breakfast!"
And then there was the way Vernon's voice could carry up the stairs and through Harry's door so that it sounded like he was still shouting directly in Harry's ear.
With a sigh of helplessness, Harry stood and wandered down to the kitchen, where he would serve his family like a house-elf.
And even that, he appreciated.
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