are we all so dull?

we feign individuality
but march on in
single-file,
our paths homogenous.

our moments of relaxation
are often hubs
of insecurity,
hives of trivial pleasures.

we’ll let everything zip by
and only keep
select moments,
hedging disappointment.

it’s not anything specific
to our generation
but perhaps
a condition of being modern.

i only like to recall
those few times
i felt alive and worthy
utterly satisfied,
a benecifary of fate’s fluke.

every day felt like the first
before she finally left,
hope marked by breath on glass,
slowly evaporating.

a perfect pass came at me as i ran in stride.
and i put my hands up to bring it in,
hoping to cradle it like a baby into my arms.
but i took my eyes off the ball
and looked ahead too soon.

i swear, it wasn’t the footsteps i heard.
maybe it was an endzone dance i envisioned.

i dropped the ball.
again.

i found a pile of pictures in my closet and picked up a photo from two years ago.
it must’ve been at the library, taken with a disposable black and white camera.
the shoulder-length hair, the oversized button-down shirt, and the frustrated look
of a first year student who trudges through three-inch text books late into the night.
it was one of those funny frowns, made in joking manner, but i bet it was partially true.

the roll was developed full frame with all the imperfections at the edges showing.
i would say the picture came out well, with solid composition and very crisp detail.
i even thought about sending it to her through campus mail or by a slip under the door,
but i eventually cringed at the thought of such embarrassing sentimentality
persuading myself – no, not her anymore.