I looked to the city. The lights were on, but nobody was home. I was alone. I expected dust devils to whirl as I walked through my world. Behind every door a Marie Celeste, of empty chairs and still full plates. Always alone. Wherever I looked reigned emptiness, yesterday’s news and mild distress. The dust and dirt of memories clung to my walls like tragedy. And then the lights went out. That was when I knew, without a doubt: I would always be alone. But what was always there, that I just couldn’t see, were all the souls surrounding me. Continue reading City of the Lost. A poem.