Palmyra

7am shadows and a pile of rocks.

There are days where I doubt that I was ever there. There are days where the memory of climbing over the rocks, dusting away the sand from the columns, deciphering the ancient Latin and watching the landscape change with the rising sun seem so distant and surreal. A fleeting memory that refuses to settle. Is this what time does? Vainly, I try to make permanent my presence, like Zenobia and Rome before me; all failing miserably.