I will give you a list houses that once used to be my home and addresses that are the only memory that has not been blurred or manipulated by my mind. If you ever want to find me, go there.
You will see the line of trees that framed my sunrise and almost dry riversbeds of round white stones, where I slipped once (or more). You will see the duststorms, and the heavy rains I stood in. You will see the the intersections, I could never quite cross. But all this you see, is not me.
If you want to find the ‘me’, ‘me’ that I do not know of, that I cannot give you, go there. And look for windows I sat by. Look for the cold floor I lied on. Sit there and think of a girl who never felt quite like a person, who could look at what lay ahead and know that neither the path, nor the journey was hers. Who only wanted a room flooded with gentle light of drowning sun, and songs that could make her sadness beautiful.