No one's standing at your door

Still walking down this road after all these years. Every now and then stopping to look around. The few paths that have crossed mine left faint memories, only seen now in black-and-white blurs; the road ahead filled with moving shadows. And the people on the roads beside me, ahead of me, behind me ... I see them and wonder if they ever really see me, or am *I* just a black-and-white blur? A moving shadow?

"It's for the best" is what the voice in my head keeps repeating. I no longer hear it and try to believe it like I used to. Time has burnt it into my thoughts as true, since invalidating it leads to madness.

So, I keep getting up from the shoulder of the road, the only thing I have known, and trying to see what I cannot see. Injecting empty words into the silence, so it doesn't drive me crazy. Straining my vision beyond what I have heard to what is really me. Getting harder and harder to not let the road beat me.

I never made this road. I found it a long time ago. Someday I'll reach the end. I hope by then someone hears my silent scream.






Ciao