Supposed you hadn't run from your cowardice, flung like a rat into the night to search out your survival. Supposed I hadn't come after you in my bravery, and certainly suffice to say I’ve made a journey based on foolish games of the heart. I've yielded again to her intricacies and her desires, only to be left on the side of the road to wander through the carcasses of the wildflowers.
The utter vastness of this place reminds you of how far there is to run, how she can allude you to believe you can push yourself to the outer corners of the world without crowding out another species, but ‘tis not true my little rodent. Wild and restless is the ache in your heart and in reality what is it you so desperately seek? Ruminate with me on the possibilities of inertia for one second and come back down to the field and the flies and the preserved rot in this place. Lay and watch the clouds migrate and mutate, and recognize your ability to shape shift and sneak outside of yourself.
I, however, populate this field alone. You are not to be found. I suppose you have lifted yourself above this place, and joined in the clouds’ ever present parade, anomalous and vaporous. As soon as your shape slides into remote tangibility, the haze slides through the sky and again you have dissipated, like a sigh, or a drop of desire fleeing mine eye. Apprehension of action muddles my original intent. In fact, that intent is but a vague breath, a shiver down my spine, a last note ringing through the hall. The goosebumps having faded already, I forget the shiver that sent them in the first place.
I shed my skin and sink down to watch the ants march on. Bygone's aqueous kiss forms like sentimental exhalations of the acquiescent, moving along the sky like sails on the wind.