Dead end street

In my time running on the city roads, I have come to recognise a dead end street – it is a junction that veers off without a green street sign with a name in white print. I always turn back too late, when I hit the fence and see the beyond that is out of reach. They stop short of the vision like hastily typed out Iphone notes poem, a grocery list I start, everything that has fallen short and never revisited. 

These lonely roads, where I only turn into accidentally, signal ‘do not enter’ in their namelessness. That is why I refuse to be vague about this – there is a name to this feeling – and I will stake my own road sign here if I have to. Do not call it pining. Do not call it loneliness. Do not let this fleeting feeling disappear into a dead end street.