I spend my days looking to the sky and as of late it has been filled with murky white clouds, heavy with small specks of frozen white wonders. The atmosphere hangs heavy with a cold blanket over my world, and the worst of it all is knowing somewhere out there, further down the continent there are trees of lush green and heated rays from the sun. Still here I live in a frozen tundra of what seems to be a city of wasted dreams.
All around me people overlook the small pleasures, yet I'm not one to speak as I find no pleasure here at all. Everyone has places to be and no time to breath, once again I am no exception.
When human beings of both chromosomes become so rushed in their lives, so panicked with meetings, money, or family I can't help but ask what becomes the point? -- At what point did it become intolerable to just stop and take some time for relaxation.
The heavy white sheets have finally given way and are spitting out the snow, and there it goes dancing, swirling, and spinning right past my window, landing so gracefully.
I hate it.
I wish I had a flame thrower.
Let’s light the sky on fire, just you and I.
