The color of the walls are mint and lime green
It changes as light angles against them differently
A few framed pictures hang up for all to see
One, two, three, eight maybe
Glanced at by many at their screens
Through two large windows, a view of another scene
One not of computers but of feet stepping over concrete
These feet belonging to people in thick coats and jeans
A couple walks by, laughing over a cup of coffee
A strand of one’s hair lifted by the breeze
They leave my sight, and all I can hear is the clicking of keys
A man in a cap walks in and takes a seat
Back outside, I see bare trees
So many branches without their leaves
Smoke is blown out between one man’s teeth
Gloves, boots, glasses, long sleeves
You see,
In observing the firm solidity and tangibility of the reality around me
I’ve come to the realization that I often view it all in an ideality
That is no less perceivable or real yet exists, held afloat by lofty flights of fancy
My world is usually an abstract actuality of malleable identities
Free to be something new and previously unseen, a novelty
Yet, the walls are green