shopping centre

When the fatigue of my soul lingers, I find myself drawn from the musty husk I reside in, exposed to the white noise surrounding me.

Taken away from, yet my focus even more so directed upon, myself.

The being that forms me.

The figure composed of shades and textures and bumps and lines, bumbling amongst the hive of other motion filled cocoons.

So distinctly and hyper aware of every nerve, every twitch of my face and fingers as I try to define my existence externally from the rest.

The skin of my lower back prickling at the cooled air enveloping me.

The air that’s been inhaled and exhaled, consumed by chattering mouths, passageways expanding and shrinking again.

Bustling, a wide space cramped by the scurrying of individuals feigning busyness.

I am but one of them.