Scribbling in dead silence. This time for no bigger purpose than the last. Finding him and bringing him home. How did I lose him? When did I lose him? How could I lose him again?!
Somewhere in the cross-roads of life lies his lifeless body. In blood perhaps or in tears is it covered, some belong to others; the fee previous hearts he shattered, treasures lost to the ungiving sea. But, mostly his own shed out of his pointlessness his insignificance and failure to come out of life in one piece. Nothing much has he really. Just his will. Nothing much at all.
I have to pick him up. Show him the roads ahead - full of stones and scorns perhaps or perhaps not. I have to show him the roads ahead and push him forwards however I can. After-all, he's not a heart I can safely ignore. He is me.
I have to find myself and return home, where I belong.
