Written by: Rebecca Berezin

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch
Reds, yellows, gold's, and oranges,
Foot makes contact with a bunch
Of techno colored leaves
On the way to place where one eats, dreams, and reads
Maybe study
Fingers are icy cold, I feel the bumps all along my arms
I count the cracks on the sidewalk and play Charms
Hiss, hiss, crack
The father sings Italian lullabies to his little girl
She lists off her dreams and hopes
He takes her in his arms and gives her a whirl
Two old women, speaking of trivialities, turn their eyes towards me
With a condescending look
As I realize where the time has gone, I blink the fog away and close my book
The sugary drink I ordered is but colored water
The air is more chilled, it whispers icy secrets and wraps itself around me
A young man is at my table
He's staring at something that I can't see
He's seeing his past
In a written diary
His fingers flip the pages
His mouth breathes a cigarette
His expression is sad, he looks like he's lived ages