Literature
Debating Distance
I know,
That we are only a napkin case,
Two coffee cups,
A black hole of a backpack,
And a journal apart from one another;
But you seem worlds away.
Here I stand on the cobblestone streets
Of eighteen hundreds London,
Following the steady pace of a man known as Holmes,
He is loved
And hated,
Needed,
And despised.
I watch his every move,
In utter desperation
to conceive the intricacies of his mind,
But my own process falls short
Of his intellect inlaid with delicate bits
of intuition,
And outlined in a bold streams of
Deduction.
I don't desire any other location,
I love the complete danger I'm in
Sitting,
Unmoving,
In