.Just look past these oldtrees, these cold windows;where slow days creep-- like sea turtles among billowy cloudsplaying the apostrophes!Take me back to thelittle green placewhere that small housefelt so alive like skin.Where we smoked our cigarettes and dragged the muddy river. Moments seemed moretender in the bare face of love back when the world was warm. Oh! but that was all once upon a time--when death feared life..

She walks down the hall in silence. The chirping of birds cheerily taunting from views of closed windows. Locked inside a placewhere naivety is not only taught, but spoon fed. Bangs in her eyes as she hums a tune, focusing only on the tapping of her steady feet, clothed in black Converse on the tiled school floor, dreaming of a day where anything could be better. At least that's the start of hope. The blooming of something new. When alone and stuck in the flow, one tends to try and break free.