From a Library, descending into dusk.

The person over there, in the large building opposite the Library, looks like a tiny little Ant.
From over here they exist, and I know that they exist, I can feel the quickness in the motion of their limbs, I can see the urgency with which they move. Is that how I am viewed to other people? to them?
an entity, void of understanding in perception, just a small insignificant Ant across the road inhabiting space.
I am here, but this place would be here without me.

This day will be forgotten, just like all the rest, but I am pulsating in and out of every helpless moment.
The emotion lost on the page.
Watching the lights in the building across the road flicker on and off, tiny moments sparkling
just to be lost.
everything is slowly shutting down outside.

They all have jobs to do, but for now I am choosing to make myself a part of time. Giving myself up hopelessly to it and falling away into its viscous fluid that encases me.
I am nothing in this moment aside from my pen and words, the rest of is me is locked in the slowly moving minutes.

I do not matter in these instances.