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  • Writer's pictureeviecourtier

poem twelve: morning routine

Updated: Jun 4, 2020


“Sat on the early bus, surrounded by strangers, heads bobbing in and out of sleep, little drops of condensation run down the dusty windows, highlighted by flickers of the morning sun

A lingering smell of cigarettes and coffee, a newly found warmth radiates off your frost-bitten body


You awaken your consciousness by clicking play, little vibrations from headphones soon consume your awareness

The outside is a blur as you reminisce of a time, a place, a person


You steal a smile to yourself as you are reminded how a simple line of melodies and rhythms had released sparks in your eyes which would linger long after it had finished

You were no longer alone, yet surrounded by the company of moments before”


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