It was overcast and between seasons. The grey sky bled down into the leaves and trees, fading the red off the brick buildings.
I have trouble describing how I feel at these times, in those in-between moments, when I catch myself walking alone somewhere, finally with nothing else to think about except what is going to happen next, why am I here, what is life really about. That’s when it’s lonely, when I wonder if the people around me are thinking, or real, or just sleeping.
Where am I going? Is this the right way? Does it make a difference?