by menonmyth

sometimes, it snows in May,
they said.
those art deco buildings
covered in silhouettes
tracing the crevices of your imaginations.
the sun peeks out sporadically
from the musty skies hanging low
bearing the weight of your secrets.

the air, devoid of pollen
strutted along.
there is a heaviness
about visiting a city
so parallel in time and space to your hometown.
the ground beneath your feet
is slushy with imprints of people
who left and never returned.