I close my eyes and imagine the sun rising in another city, it melts over the roof tops and pours down to meet the forms of faceless people who exchange duties for happy endings.
When the sun hits the treetops it’s like water hitting a hot pan, the birds and pollen husks explode into the sky.
We stand around, clinging to our second layer of clothing.. afraid of the cold, our bodies taking the fear seriously.
We scurry to and fro quickly because the life we mimic is lived fast and there’s no time to enjoy these moments (the moment).
We keep up the momentum until we crash, bitter cells, still, lying on our backs looking for answers.
We are an empty space. An empty vessel inside a tomb, a womb.
We’re the walking wounded with our invisible scars.
Is the only beautiful thing.
Someday we will learn we cannot eat money,
We cannot buy love,
We need each other,
And this beautiful
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.