Outside

Outside is where stones are. All around. You could have filled your pockets with stones. And then you didn’t. You miss that grayish stone with the brown dot. Outside is where there are places to sit. You sat on a wooden bench once. “Once in a while.” Becomes too much. So only once. Did you relax. Outside is where you stand just outside the door to your house. You can feel the air conditioning. Feeling like- You’ve never lived anywhere. You just are. Outside is where you don’t have clocks on the wall. You have a watch and a phone, though. Which you want to toss in the lake like a stone. Like the stone that you left behind on that walk by the lake. Outside has sidewalks. Outside has weather. Outside has a person like me. I used to like things like stones, and benches. I used to like things.