My eyes tell me I’m sitting at a computer in a room I keep coming back to. Am I the cursed object in this fantasy? Every time you send me away, I reappear. What happens when there’s no one left to get entangled with?

My heart tells me I’m sitting, horned and hopeless, with my legs dangling off one crumbling edge of a half-there highway. The sun’s gone, and the wind just howls and howls and howls. Snips and snatches of onramps, offramps, stretches in the sky like bridges to nowhere. A million roads and nowhere to go.

Atop every melancholy spire, everywhere worn-down concrete still upholds a span from the million roads that once were one, there’s another figure sitting and staring out at the barren rocks below. Sometimes we’ll look to each other. Some are like me. We’ve got wings. Others have ropes. We could gather.

Why, though? Would the view be any different from someone else’s seat? Let’s all be alone together. Nothing to do but wait for the world to finish crumbling.