Long Days

Time and time again you find that you are growing older. Those wrinkles under your eyes seemingly enhanced, the elasticity of your skin waning by the day. Silver strands of hair replace the black ones that adorn your head, and your memory isn't what it used to be.

The sun has been setting earlier with the advent of winter, and rain clouds have been looming across the horizon for days with no drizzle in sight. Seemingly to tease the hell out of the cold dry earth below.

People on the street look depressed and I can hardly blame them. Melbourne has become icy cold and gloomy. The sun has gone into hiding and the trees look as though their leaves have been ripped off their branches.

You can no longer hear the sound of the birds in the morning, and the last autumn flowers are beginning to wilt. There is no hope for the coming months, no life, no desire.

I no longer have the vitality that I had when I first came here. The fire that kept me warm has been put out and I am merely living the days by feeding my body with the stuff it needs to survive. I don't live for anything anymore.

The days are just hours to pass by. The nights are just minutes for me to cry.