He left for the big city and it stopped him dead on 52nd street at midnight

Some people to me are

Translucent, generally the ones I trust most, the ones I want closer,

Blurred, running through life too fast for the casual eye,

Opague, like he was at times,

These are the dangerous ones,

Him racing through his life but

Grandma never knew his silences

Never figured him out

Never wrote a poem or heard a symphony

Or travelled.

The small town she grew up in was the whole world for her

Until.

Author's Note

this one i wrote not knowing at all where it was going, maybe i'm still unsure, what do you think?