Monday, May 25, 2009

untitled again

I saw a guy who walked alone in the streets. Thinking of loneliness as a beautiful thing. Treading on sorrow and relishing the cold that seeped into his soul. The songs he sang rang with melancholy. Like a bird happy to be trapped in a cage.
I used to want to be like him, so unaffected by his troubles. Walking around in barefoot in that chill. Somehow he reminded me of freedom.

But again, what the front-door is freedom?

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