The drip, drip of the faucet becomes a solid repetition
A constant; steady
There is silence in my mind, a continuous blank
I watch the world go by, him… his new her.
What do I say? What do I think? Nothing.
A dry tablet. Chalk dust still abounds.
No writing. Just remnants of events past.
It is comforting. A constant; steady.
What am I? I am curious.
I want to know everything.
I want to know, who lets us judge others?
Why are we here? What is the point of people?
Is it a trivial concern meant to amuse our empty minds?