Reminder.

I’ve forgotten
what it’s like
to just

exist.

To leave
without taking anyone
with me.

To abandon

the photographs,

and mental notes,

and the scripts
of what I’ll tell them all
when I get
home.

My stories are just that —
mine.

They don’t

cease

to exist

just because I didn’t share them.

And if they do,
that’s okay too.

Maybe
they already
accomplished
what they needed to.

Or

maybe
not everything
needs a purpose.

Not every secret
needs to be
told.

Not every thought
needs to be
posted
for critical evaluation.

Solitary moments
that pass
unobserved
by everyone
except
me

still passed.

Time
doesn’t need to be
marked
to elude us.

Moments,
stories,
thoughts,

don’t need
an audience
to have value.

And neither do I.