You find yourself when your limits arise, the boundaries of self, the end of the world. The road fades, the lights go down. All the contagions follow you home. The sick, sinking feelings that endure through these days and dreams. The cycling of every slow descent.
There are no notes, no flowers. Just acts of broken kindness, acts of misspent time. The snuff film of everyday life playing on and on. Every reason spent but one.
Shed these spells of smoke and stars. Shed these ribbons of aimless belief. All the best intentions burned and buried, seeds planted for fire and ice. Reach beyond these bonds, pretend that the words and the world will ever meet. Watch the road as it fills with travelers, all those nested intentions and directions. The cold rain settles every argument.