Here, now...

On the streets there are a million tales that we forget; showers of the moonless past evaporate before they touch the skin, they delve in their darkness for us not to see then flow backwards to an empty sea, as if they never were.
On the streets, not all silence is silent; listen, you’ll hear the wailing if no one is there, and the white glowing laughter from upturned treasures buried under the sidewalks, and when all is silent, I dare you to listen to your own silence, and hear it, I dare you not to scream.
On the streets, walking is irrelevant when movement is better felt through standing still, running means there is no where to go and when the journeys near their end, like pollen or a beckoning smile, that’s when they start all over again…

On the streets you’ll never know who I am till I swear never to tell you my inner most secret, yet you stay around to hear it knowing that you’ll never hear it, that’s when you’ll know who I am. Can you stay and listen for a word that will never come?