Just look at the gloss. Pseudo lights that achieve the desired effect of luminescence. The rich dark grey colour of wet pavement and aging tar. The endless hues of umbrellas contrasting against the beautiful bleakness of these gloomy days. The scenic world we live in and strive to live in forever. And next to you in all this beauty I get nostalgic about the times I stood by this ship thinking about you. Analysing the endless smoke that comes out of my mouth with every breath. As all these little grey hair-thin hands would congregate before me, mingle and part. In their mass confusion they would assemble in their desperate attempt feel and relate with something. Unable to thrive off their turmoil they cease to exist. And by this river, with the fog that passes, I know how accepting of me you are. I understand what I can’t see through this thick descent. That when the passing cars illuminate what’s in the distance and outline the silhouettes of the ice for my eyes to see, that it’s the astronomical fate being mapped before me. And though I can’t read it I, in those mere seconds, desperately look for the possible area that depicts our future. Yet regardless of what I believe that area to be, I am optimistic about the outcome

But it seems that the rain caused me to stray from my path. I am so close to you yet just not there. Not in the same premise and more importantly not there. The sun dawned sooner than I would have guessed. As the cloud cover took over, I have felt nothing but numb. Rain comes down often here, so I take a routinely walk to wash my thoughts in the varying down pours. Everything is swept clean and turned into a blank slate, yet my pursuit for you entrenches it’s self deeper every time. And persists to never change. I am unsure whether I actually do desire it to change, I’ll follow my initial instinct just to lie to myself of how I haven’t changed. I want to believe that I have kept true to my promises, I want to ensure that I can still be rightful to you. Numb, numb, numb is the constant mood. I look to my arms and see that my cuffs are in chains. I turn to you and ask you do you feel the same? I guess that in the end I am the one to blame regardless at which angle you tackle it from. The droplets haven’t stop crashing against the pavement since we have started the walk. Yet the stroll doesn’t seem to end through this convoluted urban jungle. And this will be the adventure of my life spanning over such a time. Yet as I feel it nearing an end, I look to you in longing as I know that this is goodbye for me. I don’t think you’ve notice it yet but you are in the grip of a hurricane. Twirling from place to place with a wide gleaming trail behind you. It’s not necessarily an issue for you, yet I know that I will not be able to keep with your movement, nor will I be able to await the end of the storm.