Paper in the wind

I've become deaf of emotion.

I see havoc all around me, and still I keep walking. Not stopping in my path to nowhere. I see movements of mouths some accompanied with tears others with laughs. They all seem the same to me.

Is it safe to keep walking anymore in no particular direction? Somewhere in the past, I knew myself. Today, even that has been robbed. Housed in a cold cement box, my heart is grey and dying. I've become a paper in the wind. I could have been part of a great novel, read for many many years. I could have been a love letter to a beloved. I could have been constructed into a plane and soared high above the crowds, sweeping between trees and sidewalks. But I am blank, twisting and turning, ridiculed by the wind and kicked to the curbs. I am thrown from corner to corner, sometimes I get stuck and breath, before another burst of winds takes me to a new direction. I suppose this too can be a journey, less glorious as it may seem, but tradegy too has an audience. And perhaps one day someone will pick me up and hold me to their hearts, reading the words never etched into my skin. Will they weep for me or will they just throw me back?