Wasted years

He steps into the empty street, the moon casting long shadows across the pavement. There's no one around, no cars, no noise — just the quiet hum of the world. His feet shuffle slowly, like he's moving to a rhythm only he can hear, a beat that feels distant but familiar, as if the air itself has its own song to sing.

He starts to sway a little, almost involuntarily, like he's finding a rhythm in the stillness. His body moves without thinking, every step slow, deliberate — each one feels like it's sinking deeper into the moment.

"I don't know where I'm supposed to go…"

He hums the words quietly, eyes half-closed. The rhythm is steady, comforting even. He moves, turns a little to the side, his feet dragging across the ground. It's not much, but it's something. His body feels the song more than he does, letting it guide him, feeling it in his chest, in his bones.

"The world's too big, and I move too slow."

His arms float to his sides as he turns, half-dancing in place, every motion deliberate but light. He doesn't care if anyone's watching. The street, the world — they're all empty now. It's just him. He's not trying to impress anyone, not trying to run from anything. Just… existing.

"I see the road, but I don't know the way…"

He spins slowly, almost like he's caught in the current of his own thoughts, his own feelings. There's no urgency, no panic, just a gentle, swirling motion, like the wind guiding him along a path he can't see. His feet brush against the pavement, gliding a little with each step.

"I'm just waiting… waiting for a better day."

He lets out a sigh, the words hanging in the air around him as he continues to sway. His eyes wander to the sky, to the stars just beginning to twinkle above him. They don't answer, but they're there. And that's something. His movements are slow, almost meditative, as if he's letting the world pass him by while he figures things out.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel…"

He pauses, swaying back and forth, shifting his weight from foot to foot, letting the music inside him do its job. It's not a dance, not really. More like he's trying to work something out. His body keeps moving, as if that's the only way he can make sense of the mess inside.

"Just trying to find something that feels real."

His hand drifts up, fingers brushing the air as he spins again, his body light in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal. He's looking for something — some connection, some truth — but it's always just out of reach. His movements are small, deliberate, like he's trying to grab the pieces of a dream that keep slipping through his fingers.

"Wasted years… just drifting by…"

He feels the words in his chest. They don't feel like his own, not fully. They're just thoughts, just echoes of something that's been eating at him. His hands move up again, tracing invisible patterns in the air as if to catch the melody that only exists in his mind.

"Like whispers in the dark, they fade and die…"

His movements slow for a second, and he feels the weight of those words, the silence between them. He lets the emptiness settle, the quiet of the night settling into his bones. The dance halts for just a moment, and for a brief second, he feels like he's standing still. But then, the rhythm comes back. It always does.

"I keep walking, but I don't know where…"

He starts moving again, slower now. His hands reach up, tracing the air in a slow arc, as if he's trying to draw a map that doesn't exist. His feet move softly across the ground, the rhythm more of a suggestion now, a step here and there as he glides forward in his own world.

"I'm lost, I'm lost, but no one cares…"

The words spill out in a soft whisper, like a secret only the night can hear. He twirls in place, slowly, gracefully, but the dance doesn't make him feel any less alone. If anything, it's only more evident now. But for some reason, that doesn't bother him. Not right now.

"Wasted years, they slip away…"

His head tilts back, eyes closed, and his body moves fluidly, like the weight of the world has softened. He lets go of the tightness in his chest for a moment, floating through the motions like he's part of the night. The moment feels like it could last forever, and maybe that's all he needs — just this moment, to exist.

"I'm stuck in today, with no place to stay…"

His body pauses for a second, his eyes flickering open. He stares at the world around him — the empty streets, the quiet buildings. He can feel the weight of it all, but it's not crushing. It's just there, an unspoken truth.

"I'm just a soul, but I feel so cold…"

His arms drop, and he shivers slightly, not from the cold but from the heaviness of the words. He doesn't fight it. He lets the cold air wash over him, feels it settle deep inside him.

"With dreams that I can't touch, and a heart that's old."

His dance slows to a standstill, and for a moment, he's still. There's no more rhythm, no more sway. He's just breathing. Living. Thinking. The night presses in, but it doesn't feel so empty now. Just quiet.

He stands there, eyes closed, waiting for something, anything, to happen. But it's just him and the stars.