I want to rain down all over this city so that my contours might fit its streets and valleys; so my pores might absorb unheard whispers of opportunity and good intention. I want to run through the black tunnels of the subway trains with torn and blistered feet so my blood might bring some shade of humanity to those screeching metallic halls. Sometimes I think this place is a husk – devoid of the passion I crave. Other times I see the chaos that that passion brings and I understand why this world shies away from those hungry fingers.
Regardless of the sense, the logic and the ease of living under these metal arches, sometimes I miss brightness and colour. I miss the fecund humid air, and the shaded bamboo arches of my past.