I talked aloud to myself releasing my deepest secrets for the wind to listen to. Pondering what I should do is never a good conversation when the only response you have is your own mind. There is a drizzle falling from the low, grey clouds that seem to be right above my head. Every word that is spoken from my lips makes me think about it even longer, and it sends me into a fit of depression. I light up a cigarette hoping that it might calm my nerves and cause me to stop with the jumbled up novel that is being whispered up on this rooftop. The smoke only causes me to feel the decay that it’s inflicting. That’s all right; it’s a bit of a distraction I guess. Names and faces flash before me. I break down in great tears, sobbing whilst yelling the questions that I might never be able to answer. How long has it been cast over me? How soon will it end? Why am I drawn towards the masochistic situations that I seem to never get enough of? Why? I get up from the damp ground, my knees wet and my bones chilled. The cold that I feel brings me back to reality. I should go, but for some reason, I don't want to leave.