Bliss

Charred oak trees catch my eye as I walk through this field of ashes. What's left of my cherished memories seep through the spaces between my fingers like dust. Each grain has it's own story to tell, whether it be melancholy, hate-filled, or sweet. Despite the past they may have had, they now all look the same. I feel as though I may have been here once before, maybe twice. There is a sense of familiarity among the debris in this pasture of broken dreams. I am all alone here, there is no one around to neither guide me, nor harm me. It is better off that way; for there will be no one to miss when they decide to leave me like they always do. There is comfort in this land of wreckage, where both hate and love share the same texture. Everything is neutral; grey, soft, and bringing no burden or joy to me. I think I like it here; this land may be dull and my emotions may be numb, but at least there is no pain or memory here to provoke a single trace of tears. Rather than wallowing in my sorrow, I wallow in sheer nothingness, as I lay in a pool of ashes in this field of empty promises.