Its early evening going on eight. Dusk is settling over the city. The night air feels fresh and replenishes following a day that felt as if I were baking in an oven,or stewing in a stewing pot. I was informed earlier today by a child that each summer would grow hotter. I don't know why , but it makes me consider my demise. Do I still want to be here.




I'm afraid of dying.

 

Sometimes I wish it were all over. I continue now on my walk. The poverty of my life hits me. This is a wealthy neighbourhood with their utility vehicles , sports cars and Mansions. Houses built of grey stone, built in the style of scottish architecture. Afterall they were amongst the early settlers here.The Scots built the first bridge across the Saint Lawrence river. As I walk I consider the poverty of my situation. This encompasses the things I feel are absent from my life, or are they merely illusions. Hollow satisfactions, falsehoods and fabricatations. Being loved for oneself is desirable by almost everyone. Its getting it bang on with the right person. It appears most miss their mark. I did, and lurking in the back of my mind, my thoughts falter , the room goes quiet, perhaps I light one up. Doing this portends the thoughts will take flight.