I wonder how many times you can do the same thing before you lose your mind, or before someone notices.

For two days, I have been walking the same road, thinking, looking. 

I move past signs and billboards and enterprise.  I walk in empty fields and along busy streets.  I ask where am I in all this, as if I were the ghost of my own life.

I have passed storefronts with mirrored glass, and watched myself.

Over, and over.

Through the glass, I see the same cashiers.  At their checkout stations, I see them smile and greet the masses as their day passes them by.  And a few hours later I walk by, and they are gone, somewhere else.  A home.  A family.  Happy the store is behind them, the day is over.  A new cashier at the helm to stare out at me.  Perhaps wondering why is he walking by...

Again....

I almost wish I were lost, and didn't know where I was.

I walk all day long, and get no calls on my cell, and have no destination in mind.  I look at puddles, litter, rocks, gravel, and dirt.  I see a million drivers of cars. 

I wonder: Do they see me?

I cross bridges, and see the way the water moves.  I don't jump.  I just keep walking.

I am hungry.  I have money in my pocket.  I pass a dozen fast food restaurants.  But I don't eat.  Why am I doing this to myself?  NO ONE IS WATCHING.

Then, after the sky makes some changes, I decide to turn around, and go all the way back, even though everything will be the same.  I go anyway.

I am lost.  I am lost in every way but the way people usually mean it.

After hours of this catharsis, it becomes dark.  The gel that held like glue has disappeared into white flakes that speckle my long hair.  My hair is blowing in the wind.  I wonder if I am a spectacle.  But no one is there to witness it.

I have become friends with streetlamps, parkbenches, and sidewalks.  I have felt the emptiness of a day which the dead dream for.  Only I abuse it.  I squander it.  I waste the sunlight, the warmth, the air.  Why am I here?  

There is no end to this day, because tomorrow I plan to do the same when the morning sun greets me.  Life goes on.  People move.  Everything passes by. 

No one is there to see.

There is only the sun, the wind, the people that move, and me.