You wander.

It's what you do.

It's what you are. The Wanderer. The Observer.

You heard that somewhere once. "You are what you repeatedly do". 

You know why you wander, too. Why you're endlessly searching for new things to observe. Can anything be truly forever, if theres no one to witness it? To confirm in quavering voice that the end is truly never the end?

You smile, rigid and brittle, to yourself.

If you wander enough. Maybe. Maybe eventually you will earn yourself an Apple.

Like the Closer. Like your Best Friend.