It's a hard passage of time, waiting for things to add up. Wishing for some grand finale where everything finally makes sense. The moment of revelation when all of this pain wasn't in vain, it wasn't hurting for the sake of hurting. It's a battle zone, muddied with bodily fluids and oozing inflammation, a slippery slope in which I stand watch. Though no ships in the night find me, I still stand steady. My feet nailed to the ground, and with each voyager that chips away a part of my heart, a part of my life drifts along them. Perhaps that is precisely why looking back feels like looking through a crowded bar, where the air is stiffened with intoxicated breath. I wish to reach out and grab a few strands of sunny days, the walk to the corner shop of our old house, and the red paint across my cheek from dripping watermelon juice. But as I take a few steps towards the uncharted fog, all that finds me is red-filled tub and a heart that's been due to someone else.
Through this fog, I've tried to pin down the monumental structures of my deserted town. Each and every page screams in search of an epilogue and writing down I feel I've honored them.