a yellow moon. an orange moon.

I am on street lit dirty snow following my shadow. Muffled wind blows past a hooded head.

I don't know how to get older. Maybe most people don't. The day passes by so uneventfully in an office, and I debate whether or not to check myself (before I wreck myself.) I still don't fully understand why we run this way. Why so many people choose to live in such monotonous routines. Right now, my reasoning lays in the dollars. Obviously.

A well-respected man.

Every now and then, I catch this city as an outsider. With pale grey skies, the sharp edges of multi-storied buildings and arching curves of vivid graffiti pop into focus.

I can't seem to put it all into words. While I sort through how I feel, so much seems to be taboo. Insofar as the more complicated stuff isn't discussed in any real terms. Maybe a country song or two. I just, well, want someone to relate. The things that come to mind sincerely suggest an absurd level of analysis. Like, how did the human brain evolve to the point that we create such complications? I suppose I'll perpetuate the silence through my own vagueness.

A feeling real and potent, but I cannot call it a heaviness. It is true though.