I’m watching the color come back from a rooftop miles away.

Things that are uncertain are the only things holding me back.

The sky is bright red and the air smells like the run down buildings I see all around.

I wonder what it takes to get me out of here and into a place where I feel joy.

All these books and filled journals and I still can’t muster up anything that resembles a smile.

The tea in the pot is cold and my bed is empty. I’ll watch the planes write hieroglyphics in the sky as the sun hides from the night.

I feel like Monday morning, and I have for so long. I’m restless and hungry and waiting to be inspired.

And like a cold rush of wind to my bare face it hits me, and wakes me up. Waiting only leads to more waiting and that this time that is wasted will never be returned.

For me, I’ve only squandered a few moments but less fortunate ones have seen their years dwindle to months and their months to days and their days to hours.