Empty Alleyway

There’s this empty alleyway

downtown near the bus stop

that I always look through

by now it is etched completely on my brain

carved in deep like a first memory

it’s red bricks jut up from heavy treading

litter is swept haphazardly to the sides

the buildings are scarred from rear view mirrors and graffiti

and it’s shadowy corners are quiet with waiting

for the next passerby.

In it I see myself

the rust red brick when I blink

the dirtied mortar caked under my fingernails

and the right angles that structure my mind.

Most bizarrely, that same anticipation stirs in my heart.

I love this empty alleyway because

we are both made and unmade

by the ones we let in.

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