Moving On

What am I doing? Other than the obvious that is; standing about and doing nothing. For how long? Honestly, what am I doing? Hope. Remember hope. The sky, I haven’t looked at the sky for so long. It’s beautiful, really. A swash of color; orange bleeding into purple. I fear it. How could something be so beautiful? It is contrary to everything that I am. It punctuates all that is grotesque in this world; me. How lonely… no, don’t wallow in self-pity, don’t let despair take hold. Perhaps indeed there is a second entrance somewhere else, an entrance that isn’t locked. Hope. Remember hope. That ramp is inconceivably inconveniently placed.

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