I don’t understand why dusk goes by so quickly these days. I am dusk-deprived.

What else don’t I understand? Why am I always 32 years late for everything?

It doesn’t seem fair.

It’s not fair that i am the oldest one in this room. Always. No matter what room I am in.

I don’t quite get why I sigh so frequently. Even when a sigh is inappropriate, it doesn’t stop me.

I don’t understand how I can think and type all of these words. And none of them mean anything. There’s no substance. They’re insubstantial. I don’t quite know when they became that way.

I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do next. 32 years late and possibly not another 32 years remaining. What do you do in a situation like that?

I guess you can watch basketball or read different sentences in different books and not remember any of them.

I guess you can order take-out with the hope that it is Covid-free.

I guess you can pretend that the world is Covid-free.

But what’s the use of pretending it’s not there when all you can think about is that it isn’t there?

I guess I’d rather not know the answer to that question.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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