I’ve been reading through old journals hoping to excavate remnants of things that might latch on to remnants of other things. And I read page after page of this barely legible scribbling that is barely legible because at one time I did all of my writing on bumpy busses on bumpy roads. So it’s a real challenge to decipher it.

But then I had a realization. A realization that all of this scribbling was very easy to decipher because for years and years and years I was scribbling the same sentence over and over again. On different roads. On different busses and trains. With different writing utensils. Wearing different shirts. With different shoes. In different seasons. Using different words … all of them amounting to the same sentence.

“I wish I had more to say and more time to say it.”

The end.

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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