Shuffle

Wake with the remains of despair behind your temples, too much water loss for the desert to bear, it appears like a hangover, trying to sweep under the rug the darknesses that transpired in the late night. The stars silent, steady in the firmament, even the coyotes still. I dream of geographic solutions again, again, the blood of my ancestry forever trying to run, the roots of our family tree set neatly along the surface to easily be pulled up. Wherever you go, there you are, my old roommate used to always say. Life can be hacked, every piece of media trying to abscond with my attention yells over it. Perhaps there are no solutions. 

But a whole life without one seems too long.