Every day I walk through a museum.
I walk through a gallery of lost memories and
vague thoughts that once,
for a second,
felt like a brilliant idea to put into action,
but got lost in the postage of my mind.
What's amusing about this museum
is that it never closes.
The lights are always on,
but there are no lights.
The floors are always polished,
yet there is no ground.
It is always open, yet always empty.
Not a soul walks the marble halls;
no one looks at the paintings
silently murmuring to each other
on the walls.
I am the only person.
And I am always here.
My soul carefully clicks its heels
against the marble floor,
hoping that the sound
of my shoes against the ancient
tiles resonates enough to
remind me that I'm still here.
