The last train that goes by, you slightly shrug the weight of irritation to your left knee and stand still with your thoughts. You grab a seat by a chance of letting someone go and think about the time that has gone by. The time when you left a mark in the office or the street getting attention from a couple of guys who are a piece of trash in your eyes. The train came and you got in with 20 other females, looking at everybody and their get up. The most attractive one was a girl who was taller than you. You think about life, as a whole like you do most days. Life has remained the same for a couple of years now. The youth that excited you of unknown things, now it's only a passage of time looking at various people to see how things are, and how they will be. The mundane of everything, and the soulless city of a garbage bag putting out stinks of everybody. You stop thinking and looked outside the window showing various things all at once and others too, looking outside the window with a reminder of how much time is left for the day.

The series of days and nights crumbling by the side of the bed that leaves a mark of yesterday, of the day which has passed by in years, and of today which will hold your weight to go into tomorrow.

A simple depression hits you with the way you have been living throughout all these years and the realisation of what could have been if something might have clicked but it didn’t. It is all washed in the dumpster of everybody who knows nothing but an oblivious state of emotions, underneath a desire of going over the wall to see the good days, but good days are nothing but a desire that has nothing good in it. The money is less, the sex is nostalgic, and maybe you have forgotten the tense emotion of holding something completely naked, closely enough to sense the need for it. But you are tough now, tougher than a man, maybe even tougher than your father that has an expectation from you that is wearing you down. The lost soul in search of a magnetic field is seeing a loss in a time of need. The words that you use, the friends that you hang out with, the sense in the air and the beloved longings to its creation that you make in times of complete loneliness. The sculpture, the paintings, the snowboard of the past, a picture of your brother, the last pieces of puzzles, the leftover blunt, the black tv, and a cat that had one leg. You like animals, you feed them, you see something good in them, the innocent side of it that comes to you at a set time and calls you by their voice. The day ends, and the day begins, 'what a life', you start to think again, in terms of an actual answer. A truth for its own sake, and a sadness that needs no one. What is going on? The questions continue and before long you see the still images of a dark street with no human passing by. The homeless guy and sense came back to see everything positively because of the opportunity that you have. The day ends, not quiet but lonely holding a piece of something precious is getting away.