Maybe I’ve been here before, but I can’t say.
My heartbeat tells me this could be a new place,
that excitement of a new experience.
But my pulse might race if I’d been here before,
experienced something that caused joy or sorrow.

This line feels long and doesn’t seem to move,
but when I look to see other faces there’s no one about.
I’m alone, yet I sense the line of people stretching out
before and behind me forever, but faceless, and if
I reach out to touch someone there’s nothing there.

A line of invisible people, yet I must stand stopped
in this one spot and wait my turn for I don’t know what.
Maybe it’s neither new nor old, my curious acquaintance
with where I’ve been or not, a space new and old at once.
Perhaps I’ve always been standing still in this one place.

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