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Looking out the window.
People pass by in a blur. You cannot make our faces only shapes and colours.
Houses become a rigid angular feature. A boarder.
Tree's a sparse blob here or there like an ink blot.
You're not moving yet the world keeps on passing in a blur.
Reaching out to slow it down doesn't work, but moving faster isn't an option.
Without thought a hand reaches out in a desperate attempt to slow the mish mashed world down.
The glass batting the hand back.
Suddenly everything becomes so clear. Right down to the cracks in the pavement.
Are those cracks really imperfections or are they signs of growth, of movement, of change?
Sometimes life can be two complete opposites in exactly the same moment.