I'd swear th'was the place. So here I am: staring at the face of Nowhere.

Human being implies
to be.
That's so annoying.

I like writing in a language
that is not mine. It reminds me
nothing should be.

Samuel Beckett made it, and then
he wrote En attendant Godot.
Good for him. I've always loved that play (and Vladimir and Estragon)

I'm feeling anxious today. My hands
are trembling
while I write these words.

It's the same as when I sat
below my window and smoked. T'was summer.
The city lights were wobbling, too.

Now it's summer once again. I still
smoke below the window. I can see the
whole town, and the river in front of me.

There's always a season, and a window
and a couple of smokes waiting for me.
I've always taken it for granted - and that's how it is.

But it also reminds me I do not take it all
done - it's time, it's high time to
forget how to be and become nothing.

I wanna be no more and mix myself with the
whole town, the river, the window and
my couple of cigarettes.

I wanna become the smoke,
feel like smoke and the wobbling city lights
and disappear.

They won't find me.

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