There s a riot in my heart. Within a world of changing seasons, a flourish of activity s paused for indecision. The temperature fluctuates, moving with the falling canopies a flood of anticipation. My eyes turn red, but not for the exhaustion I ve only felt lately. I watch the screen, staring at the shows ending so far from their beginnings. I stand to purpose headed for work, glancing only briefly from my fantasy.
The drive is uneventful, morose as my aging music. Familiar terrain bleeds together, aggressing me toward my reality check. The gray of the middle-season becomes leaden, as the grounds for which I herd turn flat. Already my attention s forced, and I find myself again looking for a happy daydream.
