A Guest RRFP from Waterloo, Ontario. Making an effort to ensure that all our future media will have alt-text.
Were you quietly wishing the road would end?
The road from whence an eternity ago our journey began and back to it, perhaps from another angle
How soon tired and sick were you
from nowhere to nowhere?
— To nowhere?
The jaded traveller. Night errands. Walks of life that keep it alive.
All scatter on your side, unnoticed, unacknowledged, and unanswered: behind, and in an indeterminate corner ahead,
where the road ends.
The road would end.
You’d be a finite distance away from the comfy dwelling of the night,
having covered a finite distance from the nowhere you called home,
having noticed, acknowledged, and answered jaded travellers, whose number, you guessed, finite.
The road would end.
I’ve not been here before and cannot tell you where that happens.
Were you, my friend, expecting that, maybe a bit too eagerly, maybe a bit indiscreet.
Knowing the end of one road is not the end of walking, and tomorrow’s road bathed in sunrise’s golden rays.
Were you wishing the road would end?
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