I Remember the Way

I pretend not to look and not to notice, as you, and all your little habits, which I hate because I cannot turn to them any longer, they rot in the tree and their smell is carried by the wind. I’d prefer a middle ground, but there doesn’t seem to be one. Jokes and pain get caught in the wind, and the wind rushes them into me. I won’t fall or stop or even tremble. I’ll keep walking through winter, and through emptiness. I remember the way from darker days. The sun doesn’t seem to shine so bright, but it still shines.