it's a quiet scene here. the only light comes through windows. into the empty room where i sit. not quite alone and not quite fulfilled. solitude is forced upon me. in one week increments. time that's no longer time. morphing into a vacuous space. where i'm carving out a new existence.
freedom and mobility. never in sync with circumstance. they come in crashing the party. and leave me feeling wanting. the decision to process is made from somewhere else. calmly washing over my body. like a narcotic numbing the pain. the solitude is a small consolation.
green leaves swaying branches. wistfully remembering the ghosts who've walked beneath. i've layed them aside. i'll dream of them tonight. at some point they all fall and disintegrate. back into the stream. the movement toward total resolution.
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