Look through the open winter window, cool wind flowing fresh through a million punctures, and roam over the barren land, reminiscing over old memories. Regret, forget, regret again, for one moment, then another, as the sky dims into dark melancholy. I think about the first days, the best days, when I was ever so young, and fun was all I knew, and I wonder if I'll ever feel the same again. As the night grows darker, and the land is no longer visible, I think about how the lost day, and the night, are representative of the present time, where daytime memories fade to black, and never come back. I rest, waiting for the next morning.
