You don’t notice the perfection of the pavement until there is a pot hole impeding your path.
It’s only there to make you comfy.
You ignore the fact that you’re flying through the air in a metal bird if it takes too long to taxi.
It only exists to satiate you.
You’re oblivious to murder if it tastes good with grilled hearts of romaine, cooked rare.
It’s only purpose is your happiness yet you don’t really care
about what everything takes to build or do or make because it’s inconvenient to think about.
Like I am.
You don’t notice that I’m here…
You ignore that I’m there…
You’re oblivious to my presence
and it’s clear to me that you don’t really care