4th January 2015
I am making my way up through the burned out shell of a building, floor after floor, room after room of decay and ashes. The wind blows through the empty corridors and stairwells, the carrion call of memory. I am looking for something or someone. Ghosts of people who were once here.
“We are not lonely, because we chose to be alone.”
“We are not lost, because we chose to disappear.”
I look out at the awning of the stars across the sky. And the wreckage of the night.