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2:48pm

as i wait for you as the hallways clear and i sit and stare on this wooden bench— i feel like sleep. a gap— a space between what is— and what is yet to be. as i watch for the comings and goings of my peers. and i’m looking at the wall in front of me that’s painted with a quote from the poet who was born here— about what he believes in the blades of grass and the grains of sand which he treads and he breathes and he thinks they’re divine but there’s nothing good here. if he knew that this place was named for him he’d scream— and i know that because over and over i’ve heard the learn’d astronomer speak but i couldn’t leave and i’ve never seen the stars. so i sit and wait and think cause thinking is why we were put here and if i listen i can hear music from the next room and if i focus on my breath there’s a tinge of spring scent in the heavy air that chaps my lips and the girls to my left chatter— they haven’t spoken in a year one recalls her time in Florence— how she must miss the scenery— and they make a pact to get out of here and travel to West Africa. down the hall i heard applause i wondered about the occasion but now it’s quiet— those girls must have had to catch their flight but i’m still here and i’m listening and looking at that wall and thinking about going to the moon sometime. i am an hour i am passing slowly but only when you think of me. i am an hour you can’t see me but i create you just as you create me. you’ll be here soon. put a stop to my sleeping just for an hour if for an hour.

2:48pm

as i wait for you as the hallways clear and i sit and stare on this wooden bench— i feel like sleep. a gap— a space between what is— and...