a wish from the heart's left ventricle

back to the building from three years ago sneaking in to the rhythm of the concierge's nods. I keep finding myself in places I know too well, an overexposed photo of blurred bodies yet my face sits clearly where it has always been near new students that have learned to carry their name tags in their mouths. the pink touch-me-nots beg to be saved from the coming winter so I pluck one to dry with heavy words and strangers identify her as patience. if Central Square is the heart of this town, is it my duty to function as a ventricle? sometimes I feel more like a clogged artery, moving slowly whispering to myself from block to block there's a new bar a new restaurant, a new bakery, a new apartment my memory flips through blank pages, ashamed: what have they replaced? not the buskers that transition us from day to night nor the dancers who spin to the tune of strawberry ice cream. I cannot pass by a chance to wish—the stubborn dandelion takes many blows. a huff to wish for a romantic end. a puff for the appearance of abundant friends. a bluff to say there is nothing else. little parachutes glide into the street. if in months they are full of weeds, it'll be all on me to wish that the dancing never ends.