there were no cameras brought for pictures to
hold all the small details. we left them all
behind. there was a place for and there was a
time for and now we arrive and leave again, there
is no point in a keepsake when you run from
collections. i know one day there will be a book
or a song line to remind me how much it meant to
be hungy, exhausted, and alone. destination is a
point, destination is a purpose, desperation is a
reason to live...and this makes a heart beat. this
could be any day of any year. this could be any
stage in any city. all that matters is we are
moving on. the roadside graveyards pass and we
escape repeating. the construction of a nation
building up and the destruction of a nation
tearing down to build again. trailing taillights
like the ghosts of the past en route to arrival.
we are never going home.