Life is over. Procrastination whispers invitations in my ear. Nothing moves, only me or what I touch. The only sounds in the world are my breathing and the song in my head.
I'm the only human left on earth, the only beating heart left... and all I do is to scratch the asphalt, that is my bed, or my bed, that is the asphalt... looking deeply at the blue and orange sky, the road is mine, the world is mine.
And time goes on while I watch the sunset alone... for the rest of my life. But it doesn't matter. I don't miss anything or anyone.
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