The towers surround you, the inky blackness too. Looking to yourself, you huddle deeper in the fleecy jacket. Thick enough to protect against the bitterness, thin enough to allow the seeping cold to make you shudder. This is how I like it. This is how I live. Walking past towers, walking past men. Walking through life.
Observing and departing. Observing an individual that will never be noticed again. Noticing for once someone’s goodness. Noticing again someone’s wickedness. This is how I like it. Walking past youth. Walking past elderly. Walking past life.
Then a stare. And another. More like a glare. Those distinct faces now face me. I, observed?! Start running. Start hiding. Don’t be noticed. Don’t be seen! This is how I like it. Hiding from looks. Hiding from others. Hiding from life.
Fire awaits. A snappy, pure journal also. A kettle too, but that takes time to heat. This is how I like it. Now away from others. Seeking refuge from aliens. Soaking in life.
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