Alone I Ride

The crispness of the dirt has dwindled in my brain for far too long. Each town I’ve visited has given me headshakes of empathy and droopy glares. No one has seen Biscuit, and the photograph I’ve chosen to carry around has gotten torn and crumpled. Can others even imagine her face properly?

Soon I’ll find her, soon someone will recognize her, it has to be soon. I deserve it to be soon.