Bruise.is

You don't see me.

The foyer buzzes unfamiliarly against my skin. It’s hot. It’s cold. It’s raining. There are too many people. Too many people I know. Too many people I used to know. Change has marred them all and here I am, waiting. Fit. Misfit. Dammit.

I scrunch my jacket upto my elbows and watch my feet graze the old familiar greenish-gray tiles. People laugh and shout and sit and feel.

I don’t.

I feel like a stranger in a land I used to own.

But i'm not running.

I'm grazing.

I'm bruising.
I’m lost.
And when you come looking, you won’t find me.
There are too many people.