Morning chill cracks open my eye lids sprinkles some light in, laughs a little. It's the seventh day, all that had to be has been created. It's a dull afternoon, winter has scourged everything of its colour I'll try to get out of bed soon. There's living to get back to. My eyes resist the sun's lewd intentions and instead sprinkle glimmers of memory across the back of my head Light dancing in and out of cheap wine glasses Beer caps slowly accumulating in my bag We're energetically wasting our youth on our shallow ideas of infinity. And suddenly this idea of wasted whimsy proves too much for me and I step out wandering into the darkness of the early morning light watching the snow sparkle and twinkle like the stars fast racing the night. The trees watch me stumble in the snow unlike me impassively suffering in the cold. They look drab without their vibrant autumn cloaks. I stopped in the midst of them and boldly returned their stares. I think that they were just curious, to be fair. The most skeletal of them beckoned me closer leaned over leaning on the wind for support and said to me in a whisper; "We were here before you were born. We'll be here after you die. We normally reside in silence but ever so often we also laugh at how ageless seems your folly." I scramble away from the clearing my cheeks stained with shame while all around me the laughter from the withered trees assaulted my skin like cold snow rain. I jerk awake again scramble up and away from my bed open my window in a bid to get fresh air. I look out and beyond to the snow kissed park. My eyes against their will, rest on my old friends, the trees. They weren't laughing But I swear a particularly emaciated one winked at me.
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