mitchie-v

I am the silhouetted figure standing alone in the dead yellow glow of the single street lamp's flickering, dying light. The cold wind blows the debris along the cracked street, shifting the image but not the feeling. No one will fix it. No one is even here. I stand alone keeping company to the tiny, hopeful sprouts emerging from the long jagged cracks in the ancient cement, starting their lives in the place that others have died. I stay with them, watching over them to make sure their tranquil growth is not disturbed. Neither of us have anywhere else to go, so why not stay? Every second spent is not wasted because it is spent doing something.