Standing Still...

What pain. All has clearly left, and the dust which rises while you walk away is nothing more. The house is not empty, only clear of all. Pictures are not faded, they've reached their limit of light and blown out like you I am not aware and let things pass for what they're not. We dream pain, no need to live it. What use is sorrow, in this world. Pain is a conscious effort, constant in it's intent...