Gray, dark, cold, as the athmosphere behind the white, slightly dirty window could be described. People passing by, almost running, the pace an unsteady haze of worries and every day responsibilities. Their hurry started to make it's way into my heart.
I averted my gaze.
A white ceiling, a lamp barely hanging from it. It was a simple light bulb, a bit musty, very unsettling. My bones ached from the cold harsh floor beneath me.
Why wouldn't i stand up?
Slowly i raised my upper body from the cold floor. A saddened scenario stared back at me. A black cup of black coffee, left sat on the bedside table, which my mother left me before she went to work.Became one of the hurrying people passing by my house. Tasting the coffee i felt a shiver up my spine. It was cold as ice, like all the love put into it drifted away together with the warmth it once held. I drank it. It tasted awful, like a waisted opportunity, like something that once tasted great.
I spilled the rest into the sink.
