Glued

It’s funny how the moments that separate us from our futures are sometimes defined by the extra ten or fifteen minutes we decide to sit by and sit together waiting for a pigeon to step on a fresh piece of gum spat out minutes ahead in front of our wide eyes, while we all collectively

just the three of us

sitting crouched,

shushed together,

cramped 

on this cold and narrow stony bench with people passing every second, cycling through rush hour’s summer sun remind ourselves that summers like this will become winters and summers anew

year after year. 

Here we stay and here we sit as the pigeon steps on the gum. Glued, we watch and wait and while it struggles for release, our youth becomes no more than a few spoken words stuck on a piece of gum.

By Laura

From: Canada

Website: https://byrds.home.blog