Wonder

My brain works more clearly when the air that I breathe isn't being recycled inside these four walls they call a "dorm room."

Where my thoughts are being recycled as well, spinning out of control until they become cliche and superficial. 

This process makes me distressed about the most basic things and forget what is actually critical to my happiness at that moment.

Because of this, most nights I find myself outside, preferably sitting on the ground in isolation.

The finest time is late at night, when the breeze is biting at my bare toes and I'm cuddled in my jumper that smells like home. 

The stars are shining in the sky, an infinite sea of the unknown, and I notice ones that I have never seen before.

If I close my eyes and really listen, I can hear the sound of the waves rolling in, adhering to the power of the moon.

A train whistle, signaling its whereabouts to passers-by.

Cars driving to or from, or both, or neither.

The best part is, that I'll never know. 

I'll never know their stories and they'll never know mine, but that's okay. 

It gives me room for wonder.