Wanderlust

A man walked into the desert, tired and miserable.

In the desert, there were tantalising silhouettes.

In the desert, there were relaxing sand dunes.

In the desert, the shape of sand dunes turned into tantalising silhouettes.

The man could not tell one from the other. He surmised, perhaps the silhouettes lead to rest. The rest, too, leads to silhouettes. Yet he could not then rest nor pursue, but had to voyage on for truth.

In the desert, there were silhouettes by day and night, yet it did not seem to sate this. To tame the desert and its heat, people would give up their need or give themselves up and die.

He turned back, and looked at the city.

All he saw was rest, and the silhouettes. The one melded into the other, as darkness is also license.

In the darkness, he saw the next progression: license.

In the darkness, he saw what this progression conveyed: loneliness, hiddenness.

He accepted these things, and so the darkness.

The city lights faded by evening. They formed a sunset dusk, like a pang. It felt like blood before a death.

He watched a distant lizard in the desert, and drew it in deep, black ink.