The street divides in even halves,
faces shuffling like playing cards.
Some cast light without knowing it,
their laughter spilling, their warmth whole.
Others pull at you, unseen weights,
their shadows stretch, and they linger.
A fountain bleeds an endless giving,
its edges worn from too much hope.
A drain murmurs softly in corners,
pulling with patience, without pause.
We meet them both, sometimes unsure—
which we are, which shape we hold.
And walking home, under quiet skies,
the street lamps hum, answers withheld.
The world breathes in options we bear:
giving or taking what can\'t return.