1:12


As I wantonly riffle through the cold storage of my memory,
I will ultimately scatter these tattered pages to the wind
And watch them whirl into oblivion
Just as I whirl in the fiction of destiny,
The fable that our paths will cross again.

I will quickly - ever so slowly - realize
The immensity of this place,
The innumerable roads that traverse it,
And the vastness of the number of lost souls that clutter them,
Clouding my vision - as I cloud theirs.
They are lost.
I am lost as well.

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