The rogue boy

He's a rogue. He's lost. He's a bit odd too.

"I just...," the boy lowly mumbled, as he looked down on the city lights. The fresh wind was gently running through his dark hair. They had a nice view. "I just wish all the dirt would just go away," he softly whispered. A couple of thick locks fell in front of his eyes.

The night was beautiful.

"I hope it would just all go."

Then, maybe, he could be in the clouds.