snow.

It isn't quite the same waking up here. Quickly upon arriving I bought curtains for my not so private windows, a slightly transparent green color. Pea perhaps. Perhaps not. At first in the sun the light threw a hazed green sensation all over the room. Lost mostly in the dark wooden floorboards and the grey poupon colored walls, but still there. Trapped somewhere between the small dots of color left permanent (or as permanent as things easily painted over can be). In the mornings for that first week, waking up sometime around noon the sun brought to my waking eyes some sort of vibrant sign of life.

And then today it snowed. I am awake and sitting up in my bed, amping myself up to get out from the covers by pretending to be better than the cold. The rumbling outside brought my eyes to the window and the leaf machine was barreling down the streets, in the direction of my parked car. Amped enough, pants on t-shirt on, outside and before I knew it I realized that it was not rain that was lightly pelting this too sensitive skin. Rather crystalized points of ready to melt snow. Clinging desperately to the skin on my arms trying to be a part of something warm for once yet destroying it at the very same time.

It has been grey for weeks and the sun only comes out once or twice a week it seems. I wake at 7 in the morning to make it to work by 9. I take the bus and I stand most of the time and when I'm lucky and get a seat I read and I don't do as much thinking as I'd like but occasionally it happens. At work they're talking about the procedures to take in case of a snowstorm, whether we will remain open or not and if we do or don't how this affects us regardless. I stare out the window, glossed and blurry and search out a sun behind the clouds threatening past the tops of buildings. They don't leave and that's okay. It's nice to have a reason to appreciate the sunlight for once.

I have found a few bars that I like to frequent and perhaps this is the most important thing to me right now. In turn, perhaps this is also sad but. There must be something to strive towards. I am searching for a better place to live right now. This place is somewhere to take my shoes off but not to place my hat. It is cold and empty and loud but with silence.

I'm not sure what I'm even saying at this point. This is more to get letters out from fingertips than for anything similar to wanting to write.

Once I wanted to write. Now I just want to want to write.

It's there somewhere. Hidden beneath something. Around a corner. Just out of sight.