My world is lost among details. There are places in which we wonder to get away. There are places we wonder to accomplish something. I exist in a place where my details are I am here. My life began this morning on a beach. I have a bloody knife, buried below in the sand.
There are two cars in a sand field above an ocean. Both have keys in ignition. I have no memory of either name printed on the registration. Nothing shows the day to day debris of life. There is no other body. There is no other sign of blood below on the beach or here. When does a guilty man found out his crime? Or what did I defend myself from?
“God, do I carry a knife?!” I have no idea the words were spoken. The skies fail to part leading me to believe no heard me either.
I search the horizon for civilization. It wishes to hide from me. The wind is seaward. My mouth tastes the waves far below. Roads are excuses for grooves worn in the scruff meant to keep the world together. I hope for a tree. At least, something else would be alive.
I feel partial blame for this, however. My quest for who I was clings to veils of questions.