I've spent most my life wandering, just taking turns at random, hoping some strange creature would come and show me a clear path. As age brings disappointment and a loss of sense of purpose I have found the death of God inconsequential.
So I retrace, look in from the perimeter, try to replace a memory with a picture.
As the world sickens around me I take in a change of scenery, a monument to apathy, a pile of rotting fruit. My sunglasses reflection of the concrete feeds my ego. There are gunmen in the treeline. My skin's covered in flies.
So I walk slow, I wallow in the paradox. There's something here, but I haven't found it yet.
So I retrace, look in from the perimeter, but I don't see her anywhere.