I stopped by to visit your gallery today. I don't recall how long ago I last visited. Years maybe.
Dressed all in black, as I am wont to do, I clomp down the digital corridors of DA.
As I arrive the doors efficiently and silently open and then again silently close behind me as I enter.
I stand quietly listening for for the presence of other visitors, but all I can hear is the ringing in my ears that plagues me when my surroundings are too quiet.
I check the ledger and no one has signed it since my last visit. Has anyone even entered since I was last here?
I walk through the gallery and only glance at most of the photos. They are not what I'm looking for.
I'm looking for you.
I try to open up that part of me that can feel your presence, but my throat gets tight and it becomes hard to breath.
Should I just walk away?
Maybe for now anyway.
Near the entrance to your gallery are a couple of tables surrounded by somewhat out of date, but formerly stylish, chairs.
On the tables I note a thin layer of dust has built up.
With my finger I etch in the dust, "I was Here", and then turn and leave.
Listening to: the wind blow
Reading: Someplace to be Flying
Watching: the world go by