You’ve forgotten what’s back here.
What’s half-buried or completely paved.
I will not forget. I will not let you forget.
I will stay here until you remember.
I am a reminder.
I am Cone Alone.

You’ve forgotten what’s back here.
What’s half-buried or completely paved.
I will not forget. I will not let you forget.
I will stay here until you remember.
I am a reminder.
I am Cone Alone.
Sometimes, the trails get too dusty, too busy.
And the people. The people are too angry, too hurtful.
So I find myself in the lake, bobbing with the tiny ripples.
I’ll keep the ducks safe for a while.
I am Cone Alone.
My great-great grandcone warned carriage drivers of impending cliffs.
I am the last of my family, but I have stood on the shoulders and heads of giants.
I will try to keep you ahead of the curve.
I am Cone Alone.
I reached the summit.
I did it. Finally.
I look, but no one is around.
I am accomplished.
I am isolated.
I am Cone Alone.
I am trying to make sure you move forward, not backward.
(Not that time is a linear move toward progress. That narrative is misguided.)
I want you to learn from your mistakes and move toward care, compassion and community.
I think you can do better.
I am rooting for you.
I am Cone Alone.
What was it like outside?
What was it like before this?
I want to be on the other side.
I am Cone Alone.
We are six feet apart.
But we are in this together.
Aren’t we?
I miss your touch.
I am Cone Alone.
I cannot be productive.
I cannot even take care of myself.
I am on rocky ground.
I am cone alone.
I am keeping a safe distance.
I miss my friends and coworkers.
I am Cone Alone.
Fuck.
I am Cone Alone.