You wished for quiet, and now you have it,
that solitude so absolute.
You swear you could hear the moss grow
and you— just like a creeping vine,
tangling yourself up around everything that isn’t yours,
but you’ll add your fingerprints to every surface anyway
because there may be a day where someone sees the remnants
— a civilization that once was,
and they may weep for your existence.
They may try to connect to what they see.
Then again, their survival isn’t…