If I could write for you, what would I? I’d ride out on my bike into those highways crossing unknown faces through known places, not knowing where I’m headed to find something, something that awakens the romantic buried within but I’m too lazy and it’s sunny outside.
A long walk towards the sunset sounds tempting and apposite. How about a scoop of ice cream? Or a hot cup of tea? I bet it’s a fine evening. We care about everything or nothing like this time that’s incomprehensible yet lucid.
And then I’d think about the tales we tell, times the world just fell; the burgers, the fries and mayonnaise around my mouth. I think again: if you exist, who are you?
You never mattered.