THROUGH A STRANGER WHO BELIEVES

On days we want to run mad, we put on our only pair of sneakers, hit the dirtroad and raise dust as we walk, albeit slowly. We plug our headphones in our ears. We listen to what was once our favourite playlist—a playlist of seven now boring tracks. When the music ends, we listen to the night. We listen to the sound of lone birds taking flight. We listen to honks transported by the wind from the distant main road. We listen, we push our headphones into our ears a little deeper; forgetting that the sound of the night isn't electronic.As we kick the dust, we think of when someday we will lie underneath it eternally. We sniff the night air for burning beans. We walk raising dust; still willing a miracle to happen. Then it does, through a stranger who believes.