The world I belong to has long since been forgotten.
Pink bricks from each rise and fall of the sun.
What is, has been changed.
What was, has been removed entirely.
Yet I remain.
Gone is the history.
Gone are the stories.
Gone are the times.
Yet I remain.

In the coffee house, they brew tasteless water.
What has happened to the quiet study?
The crowd is too noisy and the new placement of the sun burns my eyes.
The fireplace has been replaced with screens
The quiet rumblings of the train swapped with the sounds of registers and capital.
I’ve become...