Reconnaissance

Slow is the breeze caressing my cheeks, in this moonless night I remember. Crumpled sheets sprawled on my weary bed, as pale blue light from the TV screen illuminate the walls of this silent room. Empty thoughts become a distraction, turning my gaze away from a dreaded sunrise. Another day, another cycle, it sometimes makes me wonder how long before this suspended animation ends. A muffled breathe, a stare into the blank ceiling, a tapping of the fingers on the plastic ebony keyboard while letters appear on my computer. Words have the power to both heal and inflict pain. When words leave no meaning; when sentences print only artificial thoughts, then perhaps there is no use transmitting this message at all:

I am a satellite drifting the space between worlds and in those millions of stars and trillions of planets, perhaps it is not yet meant to find my orbit around a new homeworld.