These the thoughts that ramble through this head of mine, they are of the haunting variety, or the terrifyingly familiar, comfortable confusion. Move or just move on, which is the better? Could there be both?

I've got an answer for you dear, and it sounds like this: " I don't know."


The pencil scratches possible words to form possible letters, which are mailed to the garbage pile instantly. Postage paid, return to sender, So goes the story of the last three. The pile of legal pad yellow is growing at my feet, So too are the questions of future considerations, and past obligations. Am I obligated anymore? Is that even worth contemplating? You tell me.


Put on my pants, lace up my boots, and grab a coat, it's time for a midnight stroll and the silence that this suburban waste land affords when the neighbors have laid to rest their eyes and mouths. Here I go...