Instead of walking past the place where we met, I instead find a web site
while cleaning out my bookmarks
is the place where I first heard it. Looking at it now is redundant
, since I have drained all the info from it that I could ever want.
When I think of you, I don't want to have all these options of ways to conjure you out of emptiness. I don't want to be so willing to chase your shadow through wires and grids, so I sit here, minding other mindful tasks. Keeping a window open.
This, coupled with the question of why I am alone all the time, washes over me. It is because I have made it so. It has always been this way. I have little choice but to wait it out, like a storm. Only here the storm is silence, still.
Scribbling my life away into cute metaphors, I fade out and find you. Or do I?