Some are footsteps in concrete, but most are just a squashed cigarette...
but even footsteps are worn away with the decay of time.
How significant are we really? Just arrogant beings, washed away with time.

home sweet home
after eight long months.
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Feels so great to feel the sun on my skin, sand between my toes and the waves washing over my feet.

...and all who come after,
shall have come after me.


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I met a cat, a Turkish cat he said he was.
I met a cat, a cat who liked my french fries.

How can you claim to know me so well when I don't even know myself?
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Note: Pen on paper.
Method: dotting

Larger, detailed view here


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Speak... feet.
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Note: pencil

Watching, waiting, whispering.
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Mary's shoes.

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