FragLit

an online magazine of fragmentary writing

::

Solitude

Fall 2010 :: Current Issue

2010 :: Issue 7/Fall :: Solitude

Passerby

Scott Allen

I live.
I die.
I am.

Anger doesn’t help.
Neither does complacency.

Sleep and rise.
Sleep and rise.

My cats and I.
We don’t care.

Love—it’s just another body with some special features.

You are not unique.
Everyone is.

The denial of death is still death.

It got dark.

Life is coming.

“Write it, Scott,” she said.

I missed.

Variety is our destination.

I’m still young.

It often takes a long time for the words to come to light.

The dream is over.
Now begins the moment.

I saw a young, teenage girl eating a banana chip.
She has a long way to go.

Artists only want to do what they do.
And this is what they teach us.
To do what we want.

The truth is elongated.

I closed my eyes the whole way.

I thought all the old man did was spit and cough, but he also smiled.

Life is going to the dentist.

My cat pointed the way.

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