I pull. In and out of it and wrap myself in the thunder that surrounds it. There is no safe space here, in the dark where the lights go low and the shadows come up and the answer is always no.

Have there been others? That traipsed this path with feet covered in sand and mud that stuck to them long after they had left those places. Is there something pressing here?

Pressing down on my hands and my ears and my skin and my body, holding me steady in the place where nothingness takes over, on the place where the echoes become louder and there is no solace from your own thoughts reverberating off the concrete pressing down on my hands and my ears and my skin and my body, holding me steady in the place where nothingness takes over, on the place where the echoes become louder and there is no solace from your own thoughts reverberating off the concrete telling you “stop, this is enough.”

I have heard and I have seen, and they tell me that everything I am is something that needs to be shaded.

I cannot think anymore, there is too much here, too much to come home to and too much to run away from. I wonder if the thoughts are even worth putting down anymore, if anyone is listening to the ramblings I profess. I don’t see her in the window anymore, I don’t see the faces that come out of the shadows or the lights that bring forth eternal peace I don’t see them anymore.

But the hush of the night brings me back to the knowledge that everything is ever moving and I am being forgotten in the current. I have forgotten all of the important things.

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Timely