Promenade

Thoughts, dreams of people change into thoughts, dreams of ideas. Freedom, intention, good, bad - lack thereof. Illusions of the self, but most importantly of those in your immediate proximity.

The ground is covered in snow now, but the sidewalk resembles the yellow brick road you follow back home; only the color less annoying. Streetlamps smudged into a cozy glow by the fog that grabs onto each and every ray. The trees have fallen asleep in a land where everything dies for the months of winter.

Somewhere, nothing matters.

I (used to) have all the time in the world

Now I only have some of it. Time to zone out.

"I wouldn't mind this lasting forever"

Not only is such a statement illogical, it's probably one of the worst things I can imagine anyone say to me. The thought of someone enjoying something with me involved in it so much that I would have to stand them for an eternity; of something never ending. Six words that cling to you, chaining you down until you lose your will to live; wearing you out.

Like being in a relationship with someone you did not want to commit to in any way. All you could think of doing was shouting get the fuck out of my house, get the fuck out my internet and my kitchen and off my bed.