A nothing of dreaming of something unknown. Everything wanted, bought from this material view. What is needed, missing; something to feed the Muse and the Soul. Both have died; the cup overflowing, waving goodbye.
Go back to the beginning, the story was formless, the wisdom never spoken. Sadness and Emptiness going through the motions, colliding but never meeting. Ironically, Solitude can’t understand why; all this commotion and no connections.
Don’t come back stranger, we cannot remember to speak your name.