Red In The Water

When you return

It feels strange, now.

When you return.

It feels strange-

To wake up to the sound of a digital flare -
Instead of the sun upon your face.

To get out of bed and feel the cool, smooth wood floor -
Instead of warm sand upon your feet.

To wander into an indoor bathroom and stare at a wall -
Instead of the fingertips of dawn in the morning sky.

To approach the morning and press a button to brew the coffee-
Instead of greeting your neighbor with an empty cup and some light brown sugar.

To open the refrigerator and throw out the wasted food-
Instead of walking to the market to buy oranges.

To feed the goldfish on your phone-
Instead of watching the dolphins play.

It feels strange to put the clothing in the dryer instead of a clothes line.

To have more than you need instead of only what you'll use.

To pass a stranger on the street and no longer say, "hello."

It is, indeed, difficult to see through the lens of rose-colored glasses, when the veil has been lifted.

It is strange to walk steps that are no longer common.

Steps that are no longer yours.

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Dimming in digital light,