So the year endeth. Was there something I was supposed to do?
On the bench I let the busses pass by.
Twinkly lights past their expiration date captivate my fleeting mind.
Indistinguishable whether they move voluntarily or are moved along with the shaking tree.
Matt pond PA are in the light. A measly tree in a measly city brings me close to it. Leaving the moment, the bags I carry and the shadows I covet.
Don't I have somewhere to be?
The somewhere of 2015 is clear, the somewhere of now is nebulous.
"I'm going home" - a last resort remains. The diminutive place that will keep you trapped.
Getting up the thoughts already fade. They will return, they always do. Nothing is ever lost on me. Circles represent my line. I take my straight line for a curve like once I was told to. In the end I will find if it was worth it. For now the line is 41.
"Money doesn't buy us freedom, it pays for our prison".