In the Suburbs of a bright, sparkling city, a girl is writing.
Who can say what will happen?
Will she write about the endless snow falling from the blanket of clouds we call the sky?
Or will she write about two men in their 20's, confessing their love?
Thoughts race through the girl's head. They constantly race each other, race through the endless existence of dreariness that is life. Sometimes, one thought will outrun another, reaching the finish first in the race of time. These are the only thoughts The girl will speak. Of the losers, she will write of few, but most thoughts get discarded. Where do dead thoughts go? She wonders. The girl may write about this later.
For now there is just snow gently drifting with the wind, a lavender child's bedroom, and the losers of the race of mind.
