Interrupted/Incomplete Post.

When you have been gone long enough, it is unpleasantly tedious to find your way back and most times you are not even welcome back. Not readily, no. There are no open arms, beaming smiles or a room with fresh sheets and a clean towel waiting for you slip into. To slip into your old life.

There is no old life. It has since been fragmented, abridged, borrowed or simply claimed as prose or some motivational bullshit by ones gifted enough to tell tales for effect.

Although is that so bad? You are the lucky bastard who stumbled and flung the Building Blocks of the race to the top. The top of / to nothing really but an unstable cliff for all to hang off; you knew then what they are only realizing since you have been gone. But did you or is this part of a narrative structure. Theirs / Yours / My skeptical mind …


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