Slink slowly, away. From the road, from the familiar daunting countryside. But I'm no more found now, now that I'm here.
Strewn across some unfathomable endlessness, I can't hardly begin to imagine me whole. Maybe it's for the best. I am here indefinitely, and ought to leave the rest unmentioned.
The real world is small and confined within my scope. I want to make it larger until I am happy and exhausted. Until the miles simply end in euphoria. A sort of perfect natural choreography, unlimited and certain. The sort that might only exist in my day-dreamed endeavors.
Another winter passes, and with spring I sew no new answers. In my heart and love I may not ever know myself. Dug down and planted, forgotten in a lifestyle passive and foggy too long to be recalled. Was I ever reborn? I might be just a ghost after it all. A memory of a shadow, fleshed out in worldly knowledge and triumphant affairs. Rootless and unbound.
