Night

It is 9:11pm and I’m out in the backyard. The sound of the train sounds off in the distance. Cars are passing by and the metallic sounds of my dog’s collar accent the now silent background which is night.

I miss writing like I miss many things. Time moves too fast now and part of me is dying a part which I’d hope would somehow save me.

There are days of happiness and days bereft of it. Days where all that consumes me is work and silent canyons of time where I try to remember who I am.