This post named itself.

Weary feet marched themselves upon paved despair. A slow rallentando sang itself through the rustle in the leaves. A lamp lit itself in the sky, a dim light, a scared light, fractured and scattered across many days, many years. The breeze gathered itself around a flower and they danced to an elegy written for you and me. The space filled itself, broken hope and an empty, sober irrelevance spoke itself in the effortless stepping of steps that go nowhere. Diamonds in the air shone themselves, reflecting not the light of the sky but the painful glow of eyes that hid themselves. The sand drank itself, quenching the thirst of a tired confidence, of a determination that could not determine itself. A tree grew itself, branched itself, stretched itself, holding up its shadow, building an abode of solace, a haven I could only dream of.

All the while, I could not walk, I could not sing, I could not see the light, I could not feel the breeze, I could not feel the emptiness, I could not lift my eyes, I could not find the water, I could not even feel.

Hover over me, oh great branch, I will borrow your body for sleep, while I only find myself.