The temperature is low. It’s cold. Very cold, actually. It isn’t too cold though. Not that it matters. I can’t feel anything. I mean, not like this anyway. Being away from my body and all. I know it’s cold, but I can’t really feel it. Not that the cold even matters anymore. It’s all I know now…. I’ve been wandering the city for a while. Not too sure when I ended up here, or why I’m even here for that matter. As far as I can understand, I’m just a wandering soul and nothing else.
An empty soul looking for something to fill itself with. I’m pathetic, but who even cares? None of it even matters. The snow is beautiful, though. Small flakes of pristine alabaster-like jewels falling from the heavens down upon us. I’m sure it’s nothing but the tears of angels who pity us. Their tears are only enhanced by the lustrous bits of sunlight that have managed to kiss this place we call earth, attempting to warm our hearts so we don’t feel the cold. It is saddening. It’s depressing. The brilliance of the light causes me to realize just how beautiful the somber winter nights really are– not that it matters.
Beauty is pointless. It’s not like anyone really gives a damn about it at all. It’s such a shame. Just the thought fills me to the brim with tears. Heads are to the ground and people are lost in their phones; it’s not so much as the beauty of those around them that distracts people anymore. They just don’t care about anything else. Even as the sun sets, amassing a spectacular load of visual glory just at the horizon, it means nothing to the denizens of earth. Sunset for them translates to _sunglasses off_; it’s just another moment that has passed. A single moment in the vast expanse of the many to come. No one seems to understand that it’s a moment that’s lost forever. The sun may set again, but everyday, it only sets once.
My heart aches. Misery is my indulgence, and I am addicted. It’s beautiful though. Tragedy, that is. In all of your wellness, you take for granted everything: your ability to breath, to walk, to see. Pain helps you to appreciate the small things in life. Pain is what helps you see beauty and realize how fragile things are. In all of my time, those in abundance never realize how lucky they are. Only the faces of the deprived lighten at the sight of the beauty they’ve been denied all of their life.
If deprivation is all it takes, then I hope for many tragedy filled somber winters.