My pessimistic mind is a cloud, not ready to come back down. I feel good where I am, illuminated in the streets between the factories where I used to wander when I was seventeen. I see fireworks of a notable celebration exploding over my head in the black night sky. I give way for the rush of cars, the shuffle of the cards, in love with the old architecture. I leave the night bleeding in my shadow. I move with the changing times, leaving behind unimportant material obsessions. I caught fire, holding him close to me as he cried, releasing years of hardship, barely able to speak through the tears. He told me how he feels unloved, and I reassured him I care, almost wanting him to hold me close, wanting him to never let me go. I became the cinders of city whispers, metaphysical tattoos. Lost in my thoughts. I walk along old roads, where I grew up in a broken home in a rundown town. Now it\'s a museum I visit, I go back there and cry.