I'm beginning to think I'm the only one left. The "lone survivor" that many fantasized about. If any other soul trudges on through this dystopian wasteland, would we not have met already? In the multitudinous moments of muteness, I feel as though I could call out through the mist and somehow someone would hear me. Could my voice journey across the vast expanses of water, and traverse the highest peaks? Could it nimbly twist its way through the charred trunks who once made majestic forests? Could it finally arrive on the ear of my only companion thousands of miles away, now as a whisper, or as a breath of desperation? No, surely not. Instead, I must keep moving. I see no point in settling down, by any yearning of my imaginative mind. My heart will call no place home while it yet gazes upon the possibility of future human interaction.
What is a mansion with only a room occupied?
What are the finest clothes without foreign eyes to behold them?
What is all the money in the world without a million wallets to fill?
So with this I continue on, totally free, and hopelessly lost.