you leave everything everywhere. nobody owns this city but you could. you came here on a boat made of plastic and got friendly with the people of this idyllic—lethargic—town, and pretended it didn't bother you, that nobody asked you if you missed home.

a trail of scrap metal and cake crumbs. mechanical cocoons built over grass and fern. signs written in a language nobody speaks and radio stations and—"hello? is this on?

"yeah, i just wanted to talk for a bit. i know you can't respond. it's just nice to talk. to feel like... i can stay here for a bit."

one day you'll fix the ship that takes you home. and eventually, everything will erode. the old clocktower, every vehicle that crossed your roads, every whistle in the breeze that grazed your windmills.

my hope is that i'll be far away from this city by then, that i won't have to see you disappear.