Sand.
Broken shells. Shells
under the feet. Yielding sand. Broken
shells like people. Walk slowly along the shore. Think. Pick up
what you find, discard it. Pick up
what you find, collect it. Try to think. Backwash, seagulls calling: confused voices. People talking, useless
words: weathering my thoughts. Feeling of
weariness, the action's futility. The sea, an empty stretch. Grey sky, cold cover. And the void, inside.
Thanks. The
emptiness, outside. Thanks you all: little
joys, big loves, partners for few hours. A pier, tries to reach for something. Thanks to
the sycophants, thanks to the night-man. There's nothing to reach for. Thanks to
those few real friends. Aimless. I am aimless. You taught me an important lesson: I need a target. Use this
city, don't let people using you. Looking around me. People
come after, the purpose comes first. I see just wordless strangers. Suffer,
believe. Empty streets and damp houses. Broken
shells. Thrown over your shoulder. And void.
And weariness. Nobody is
worth more than my goal.
I am not worth more than your targets.
People as useless as broken shells.
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