There is something ironic about a summer rain in NYC. It is hot, wet, even tropical.
The mist lands, tickling everything at the same time, no escape.
Rivers of sidewalk people, wet, affected, all together, as they should be. A shared experience amongst 8 million unique lives.
Wet and tickled, we still try to rule our own domain.
Do you rule? It is your world, you are the emperor of your conciousness.
Or are you a servant of consciousness?
Like the mist the mind keeps raining. I had something to do. I wanted to stop the mist. Good luck.
This is the quest for control.
At least I can control my body, right?
My imperfect smile humbly says no.
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