Eli Kollman

Each step I watched and the fading footprints in the rain felt like letters written, sent, delivered, and never read. I wish that one day when dogs don’t pass and times feel extendable, that I can breathe. I watched rain fall light outside of French Roast, I had a third beer because why not, I’m young. The rain fell harder. A toddler danced and said the sky was leaking. I asked Austin, my server, if it was alright I sat outside? Yes. He said. I’ve been here an hour. Can’t afford the soup, don’t need it. I’m run off thought, or so I tell myself. I’m run off fumes, and that’s true. Oh, to be a dog stepping one paw to another off the white lined crosswalk. Oh, to be a raindrop falling freely, never thinking of the ground. Oh to be a peaceful walk that sees no sense in ceasing. Ah, the many joys I’d feel were I them.