Left

The heat. It's no longer joyous. It's just as depressing as a cloud-filled windy day.

The rain. I prefer to stand in it now, look up to the heavens and hope for it to wash clear my mind.

That house. It's just a left over snakeskin. It's hollow. It's out of place.

The streets. They replay an old tune of a happy album that now holds a scratch on the vinyl.

Irony. Flames engulf this area with nothing to put it out. I am left to look at embers with a look of puzzlement.

To drop out of existence. Questions left behind with loose ends. To drop out of existence?

Cache-cache. As the phrase states, no finding. A childish game confirming need of Maslow.

Me. The only thing left that hasn't changed. The only one of us left in open existence.