I often find myself in an empty room full of faces,
watching people watch people.
I can see their minds, I see how far they are from wherever we are,
A classroom where a teacher hands out philosophy like halloween candy to clenched fists
A dinner table filled with soliloquies that don't quite connect
A stage where a girl looks to the sky, as if the words she can't remember are written on the ceiling
I want them to think about where the lost words go
the words sitting on tips of tongues,
sentences and speeches
stories that they meant to say
written on scraps of paper tossed out with tuesday's trash, pencils poised over paper with no words coming out though life seemed so clear ten, fifteen, twenty minutes ago.
I want them to realize that this is magic, this process of pushing sound waves at one another, sharing our thought as they occur as if broadcasting inner monologues, dial in to station 92.4 to hear all the hits plus the reason she has a scar on her knee and the top ten things about the universe that mystify me
I want the whole room to feel as inspired as I, for there is no better feeling.
But they, you, and I - the world will not notice them
and they will not notice me when I pause to breathe
staring into the lights
And maybe that's a good thing.