In a pink room, filled with family pictures, and tacky decorations I lye. The air outside is a wet cold, and does not smell like winter. The snow is uninviting, unlike Canada, and lacks to set a warm winter scene.
Here I lye with coffee breath, and open ears waiting to hear the front door open. I have become consumed with status's, pictures, messages, and gossip. What I need are books, good books. Hot weather, and new music.
I am free from this room in two days, although that seems like a long time from now. My body sleeps throughout the night, although everyday I feel tired. I blame it on malnutrition but I know the truth. My emotions run wild here.
Oh how sick I am of public transportation! Dirty metros, dirty people, and dirty minds. I would rather stay in this pink tacky room under my pink tacky stripped blanket all day, and never feel violated, cold, or tired. The problem with this is there is an owl upstairs who does not approve. This is her nest, and I do not own this pink room.
So. I will face the cold, dirty air. With dirty people and their dirty minds. I will walk down the hill, and back up in my swade grey boots and heavy bag, with the same old songs in my head, and think the same old thoughts from my heart.
I did not come from this. And as much as I convince myself I do, I continue to show myself that I belong back home in the long run. Where the air is clean, and people smile.
But don't confuse this with home-sickness or hate. I embrace this room, these people, and this tacky blanket. This is where I should be. I live in the present.
I have grown into a butterfly as opposed to a moth.
So bring on spring, where new beginnings take place and dreams are born. Another candle is added onto my cake, and hope winks. She shows her face through mother nature. This is my life, and I will take what I will from this old man we call Winter.
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