Driftwood

I don't belong anywhere. I don't belong to anybody. I am part of nothing. Always alone, even when with people.

Alone.

Always.

There is a pageant before me, shifting faces, places and I look on, sometimes slightly intrigued, most times indifferent. Time passes, people pass, places wobble and shift and reform into something else.

I meet someone on the lift and we chat and exchange stories.

I meet someone at a gift shop and she tells me her name.

I meet someone for dinner who smiles and asks me if this could ever be home.

I say no. Not for me. I don't have a home. I drift, like some piece of wood, forever searching, never finding, buffeted by the waves.

Never finding.

Alone.

Forever.