“There’s nothing left to say, only goodbye,” and with that, I walk away. I know what they’re saying, I can hear them, but I’m not listening anymore. There’s a strange freedom in loneliness, an odd strength once you’ve been broken. Their voices are quieter and quieter the farther I go. At some point, a roaring engine passes me by, and as it screams on ahead of me, I know no more their voices. The speeding car itself is lost to my ears in the swelling din of the world. Nothing is mine, and I am no one’s; Nothing is mine but my feet, and I kick the dust from them.
Tonight I wander into the black, known by none but me.
Whose voice still plays within my ears? What love still lingers in my heart? Imagination’s painful pricks.
Weary and cold, tired and worn, but always my feet go on.
I stop at a corner and see myself reflected back in neon lights, unreal blues and reds marking the contours of my face. The windowpane is dark, its store closed; my eyes too look dark within the glass.
Above, the sky is carpeted in uneven clouds, and there are no stars on which to fix my gaze. Yet, in this neon world, one thing manages to stand out—the shadow of a mountain, dark, makes no effort to be seen. In this night which is not night, there is still something real beyond the city. I wander toward the mountain far away, and know the journey ahead of me is long.
Inspiration:
Tale Told 
Byyeeee!
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