Sad, forgotten little things.

Sad forgotten things. Sad, forgotten people. They seem to reappear again and again, like flashes, or like the blurry lights in straight lines, here for a second, gone the next minute. Like the fast trains that won’t stop for you at the station.
You can only blink at them.
Blink. Blink. Gone.
Like a carefully orchestrated sequence of happenings, specific things placed at specific places in the time-space frame. Popping up here and there.
You zoom past them, looking back, startled.

Blink. Blink. Gone.
Was it a silent accusation that you saw in their eyes?
Or just plain acceptance of fate. Our fate.
Specific things placed at specific places.
Sad, forgotten things.

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