Caring

I feel exposed, in a weird kind of way. I'm not sure if I care of if I don't.

I don't mind the cold grey sky. It's like a reflection in the mirror, and at the same time an inverted photograph.

Winter is moving in. Slowly, but surely, it's getting colder. It's wet outside. Wet and muddy. Everything seems dirty. Soon, it will be white and snowy, and then everything will seem clean. And it will be colder.

All the drama that goes on around me. Dragging me in, tieing me to a solid stone wall with chains of hard metal. I don't want to know. I don't want to be told, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to care.

But that is not all. It's again. And I don't know if I mind.

Is my life still the same quiet hole as it's been for the past few years?
Am I still the same?

What will become of me, when I always back away from what matters to them? Why should I stay alongside them, when all they do is create the drama I hate so much?

I don't get why they care. I don't get why I should care. Yet I do, in some way, to some extend, I do.

But the dark road ahead, I do not see where ends, or where goes. And maybe it is not my road to follow.

Time will tell. And if my patience don't run out, I'll know.

Let's for now, just sit back and relax. Caring is just a waste of precious energy.

  "Alice"