From where I sit, the sun looks lovely, offering me my only dose of requisite peace. Boredom has caught on to me real tight. And interesting is walking a different alley. The world is sepia, my word for drab.
Why don’t you tell me where are you? And where am I?
My fingers have swollen with fat, losing the rhythm with their divinity. And my mind, a lazy slave!
The hope in my heart vacillates. There are memories of dancing in the music. There are colors. There is pure joy. There are the diminishing lights. There is the drab sky.
Why don’t you tell me where are you? And where am I?
