I have long since disappeared from these places. Time speaks and all I have left is gone where meaningless gestures from strangers in a foreign land signify nothing, the circle once more revolving and unfolding 
the mysteries of sleep. And everything, macrocosm and microcosm, has merely become a dream. Dead sonnets 
and broken memories. Lost words and disintegrated photographs. Here they say it's easy to become "dust"
Tonight I have awakened you alone once more. I walked through you're house and you screamed, you're once 
beautiful brown hair now white with years, your heart still missing in all the wrong and familiar places. 
What are you now? 65? 70? You cursed me and swore that you would never let me in again. Was I supposed to be there? After all, you were the one who called me, and all I did was answer. So what's worse than a 
suicide? I know. To live day after day after day in the misery and pain that you created
For yourself.

~ R.M. Engelhardt 

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