See the Tree Tops

Days pass, evenings pass, it’s hard to tell them apart in the land of the midnight sun and you don’t try. I’m tired at odd hours or not at all, one night I sat under a heat lamp in the old neighborhood and watched a new face contour its edges into my memory; I guess I’ll see you around? but it’s anyone’s guess as to when and on which continent, such is life and I do not ask questions anymore. The walk home was oddly familiar, tipsy on a Monday and silently smiling, the old church along the way remembered my drunken stumbles and let me go. The air is colder here, I don’t think I’ll come back. It doesn’t hurt any more, but only for how much it already has. I am numb to the world, now. 

Come, try to break me anew.