A lone bulb flickers somewhere behind me, making the shadows dance without moving. There’s not a hint of a wind; the dust is thick on the leaves that brush against me as I walk by. Heaven know how long they must have stayed in one place to gather so much dust. But it all floats around me now-- I take it away with me and continue walking. I’m walking…in a completely straight line, head down, hair covering face, bare feet kicking a rusted old tin can in front of me with every step. Alone. Above all, alone. And living an existence that maybe even God doesn’t understand. I’ve had this image of myself for quite some time. Who knows why, and what is there to know? Unneeded, unwanted, unloved. That’s all that’s left of me, of anything I might feel. I simply close my eyes and walk my own road with the flickering bulb never dying, the dusty leaves never rustling, so alone, so alone that I don’t even feel my own existence. My walk is strong. My feet are cut and bleeding, but I am not limping. My hands are steady, as is my path. I am not meandering yet I never was headed anywhere. But my face is shrouded, and I can’t see whether any tears are running down it or not…