winters lifeless lips breathe out bitter air. Snow falls down onto silent town squares for no one to see.

Yet here I am
I wander along as the lone source of breath on streets where only shadows walk
I drift aimlessly through the white painted town.
Giving empty streets corners a new shadow
And then taking it back just as fast.

In an hour any trace of me being on this street is gone.
In a lifetime or so any trace of me ever being might be gone too.
My whole existence might be for nothing at all.
So I'm left with a question:
If nothing I do stays the way I made it
Then why change anything at all?