Sometimes your hands will become anchors and you will try to move and the ground will thank you for keeping still. And you will only notice this because suddenly you'll ask yourself," doesn't the ground feel lonely?"
And the people will spit on the deeply- tarred -equator -feeling bubblegum laced ground. And the people drag their obese- nicotine savaged-righteous feet upon the surface and allow their children to pick at it, mimicking their itchy adolescent nostrils.
The ground, we never realised is a playground for lovers backs and the collector of the suicidal's blood from every 27th floor. But mostly it connects us all.
This is noted from the thoughts of a 17 year old girl who wants to thank the ground for being grey and sometimes brown or green and wants to be forgiven for being the next shade of red on it's beauty.