I keep walking.
Damp hair smear my cheeks;
sweat trickle down my eyes;
soles sore and heavy neath a crumbling fantasy;
toes numb, lurching me to trip on scarred tracks;
dirt stain my face.
I wait for an audience to stare down at me, a smirk, stifled laughter,
but there is no one.
I am alone.
And I realize, how inconsequential I am in a world full of blank faces.
That the sun will continue to set and the moon will continue to rise, that the earth will continue to spin and the birds will continue to sing, that storms will continue to surge and flowers will continue to bloom.
And it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.
What a comfort to know how I am nothing but free.