Calling myself into the grass, dirt pushes into my nose, reminds me of what is real

Push me into oblivion. I was not there before....

The gray skies above me were shadows of what could be. I heard you cry. You heard mine. I was looking. I came. I saw. Regret. Red turned into something other. Paint drizzles alike. Pushed me there. They pushed me to look. Posters faded on poles staples tore the edges.
The images hardly recognizable after the weather had come.

Marbles thrown all about....
There are those like minded who come to you in the night. They meet you in out of the way places longing to explore you. Like a shooting star they look to see if you chase. When you follow...they slow down just enough to let you grab hold. When you ask, "what next?" They giggle, shy away, play chase me once more. The chase, the race, no winner. Just the players and the stage. Longing looks. Fiery gazes.
Bob Dylan lyrics.
Souls emerge ripped like paper. The skin catches on fire and puts it out with tears. The wind whispers scents of her. was she ever there? What was that in the palm of your hand? Was that all there was to hold onto? A Halloween costume? A stolen bag of candy?

Was that a bridge between the houses of Frida and Diego? A bridge of trust? Why was it so small?

Days were easiest walking to and from the parking lot alone. Just done writing an article on the state of the world vs. the state of me. I was editor-in-chief. Summer's drink has brought on tomorrow. This is my glimpse, a telescope, an eye on thirty
with the moon blocking my view.