I Walk Where You Walk

I walk as you have walked. With leather footsteps that leave no footprints on the pavement. I walk as you have walked. Woven and unwoven around traffic lights and side streets. I stand as you have stood at the mouth of the concrete monolith. Doors open to elevators that want to go up but I want to wait for you.
This is our city of wind. Our city of rain. Our Winter thoughts must dig deep into the promise of tomorrow’s sun.
I walk as you have walked across cold carpet floors. I open our communal cupboards and rummage through the questions. The questions stuck like teabags to the bottom of the cups. I drink as you have drunk but why don’t you wash the dishes?

I inquire as you have inquired upon the thumb-tacked wisdom of our bulletin board. The pamphlets that almost scream with bold text and wild questions. What are we doing here?
I work as you have worked. We iterate and ideate silently across the desk. Our simple and singular quest. My question. Our question. How do we celebrate today?

I walk as you have walked. Briefcase. Leather shoes and satchel. These are the wild thoughts that I cannot tame. Wild thoughts unmasked, off leash, rabid and raving and hungry.

I breathe as you have breathed. This city of traffic fumes and cappuccino smoke. Our feet fused to the same road. Stuck to this self-same spit-stained asphalt.

This is our question. Our beacon. Our beckoning. I walk as you have walked. Where are we walking today?