I look in people's windows...

This self that I have become now as I leant over the gate looking down over fields rolling in waves of colour beneath me gave no answers. And there is no more opposition. No attempted phrase. My fists do not form. I simply wait. And I listen. But nothing comes to me, nothing. So I cry then with a sudden conviction of complete desertion, accept again that now there is nothing. No fins that break the waste of this immeasurable sea. Life has taken its toll on me. No echo comes when I speak, no varied words. This is more truly the downfall than the death of grandparents, than the death of youth.