Ryan's Tumblr

He looks at the concrete-encased automatic doors,

A beacon of humming, florescent light

Amidst large and dark window panes

Whose frames are painted with the same warm, romantic yellow

That the light cast by a streetlamp paints

Onto a concrete overpass ahead, the same light

That gently emanates from tiny apartment building windows,

Further still. The light seems to hold

Some impossible promise that he’s long since learned to ignore.

The same promise pours into his ears,

Bleeding effusively from the silky,

Gravelly voice of the singer

Whose music was appropriated from some amalgam

Of imagined pasts he doesn’t understand and doesn’t fully want to.

Wondering if the hip, slightly inaccessible music he’s worked so hard to love

Is any different from the inauthentic, sentimental crap on the radio,

He wishes, momentarily,

That he’d given more attention to the music his friends enjoy

Unironically.

He wonders what all the people inside

Those tiny, glowing windows

Are doing. He wonders if any of them are looking out

And thinking the same thing

About the tiny, glowing, yellow subway station

Behind the amber-washed concrete overpass