Why Have You Come Here

Years past, I awoke cold and wild in the all consuming darkness of my bed and my room and night.  And ocean of waves that swept over me with the vision of a young woman I’d known walking away, reflecting below and being lifted away by a multitude of hands.  We touched one another’s hair, fingers running through all the strands in a stairwell during a night one deeply, balmy summer.  That was years past, years aghast.
She’d taken her life years between those times.
I couldn’t help but take down the vision I’d seen.  As much as it haunted me.
As much as that night I felt her presence with me.
I ask so many questions, of who and why.  Is there purpose in the presence, or is all chance and simple occurrence?
  The uncanny never leaves, I want things I cannot have, things I cannot achieve.  It both drives and pains me.  Both have made me feral, I’m unsure if I can ever be satisfied.  And so I run on alone and recount memories and experiences, people I’ve known without better answers.  There is no place, no home for me.
Why have you come here?