The Path

Alone

The walls crawling with questions.
The windows blowing air like your breathing.
The carpet the only grip holding everything together.
The paper your source of letting go.
The pen your witness.
The ink the permanent tattoo.
The movement of your wordings like a memory.
Memories only one in pictures and videos.
Phone calls, FaceTimes, messages. Are they enough?
Thousands of miles away,
Everything you were,
Everyone you knew,
Now a memory in the distant...