I don't have anything to tell you.

I don't go there anymore. I pick up the pen and put it back down again. When I found out I didn't even cry. I wrote about who I thought I was, who I thought I could be. I wrote it in white chalk over the black pavement that hardened over my life and the rain came. Do you think, maybe I could find it again, perhaps if I put my face against the ground? I could soak into the earth, drip down into its core and swell its searing flame. I could crack open the earth and scoop the chalk water out if I cupped my hands.
Stop.
There I go. I lost myself again, it slipped right out through the soles of my shoes. The earth swallowed it whole and here I am telling you about it, trying to get it back.
Erase.
I don't have anything to tell you.
I don't go there anymore.