A poem from my commute (my phone died)
The waiting, the watching, the time that feels wasted, Stuck between work and play. Without keeping my mind busy with other things, it wanders free, to assess the day and plan the night. Everyone, together, heading home, they're plugged in and zoned out. A bustle of bubbles. The rhythm of the walk clears my thoughts, the golden glow of the sunset painting a masterpiece across the river. Is it wasted without the chance to take a pic? Maybe being unplugged for a while is not as bad as it seems, Maybe taking time for the small things is just as important as crossing the next thing off the list.