Cab rides, bus rides, train rides, subways. Walking the street, the malls, the shops and businesses. Every now and then he even walked himself right into someone’s front door and had a look around, curiosity compelling him to seek out humanity and fill himself to overflowing with their lives.

There was a point, long ago, when he was convinced he’d lost her — he almost gave up hope the way Sam had, but clung to something, perhaps a desperate insanity that should’ve died, but couldn’t.

Now, closer than he’s been in eons, he keeps seeing traces of her, here and there, in the smiles and on the faces of a sacred few.

Dropping change into the hat of a ragged man playing the guitar, he caught a nod and a wink and gave both back, feeling a smile curving his lips.

“I know you’re here,” he murmurs to himself, whispers to the city, believing that somehow, somewhere, she’s listening.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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0 Responses to Searching

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Don’t you ever finish what you start?

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