I Love to Write

The place. I left it. I didn’t care. There was no reason to be here so I left the place the way it was, put a for sale on the door and left. I didn’t miss the place except for an occasional hello and maybe a smile but is that enough to keep me here? So I took off looking for my fortune but finding only the great large horizon. And littered in that trail were old love letters and memories, pages from a calendar and rumpled, half yellowed photographs of times long past. So in a fit of enlightenment I gathered these things and decided to head home to the place I left a few long months ago. And when opened the door of my weed infested row first thing was open the windows and blow out the stale air. Grabbed my old well worn chair and gratefully found one can of cold Coke stuffed behind the stale old pizza still in its boxes in that thing I call my fridge. And took out my pickings I found along the way and decided maybe it’s time I try and make sense of things before it’s truly time to go.