Nachtpfauenauge

What I've learned during my last, long vacation is that a year can be quite a long period of time but several years... well, they're not, really. Autumn always makes me very melancholic, especially on days like this, when it's cold enough that you need to wear a jacket but the sun shining cautiously behind fluffy clouds gives you a comforting feeling of warmth. There's smoke in the air and a smell of burnt leaves, a sign that vines and trees still haven't been replaced by identical looking patios with carefully trimmed grass and evergreen bushes. Raking and brooming every single leaf in the yard was a tedious task, but the huge fire I was put

People are passing him by every day without even turning their heads. He's just a piece of the puzzle and like every piece he's faded and lost in the big picture. In a city full of colors he could never be noticed. In a world where time is a commodity he is alone, playing his small part and never complaining. Why would he complain anyway? And who would listen to him? The people hurrying to work, earphones on, eyes on the road, completely isolated from the world? As the warmth of the summer fades he begins to die. Again. Just like every year. Shrouded in fog day by day the leaves turn golden and fall to the ground. Then he notices something:

I don't know why I use this place too keep whining all the time, reading through my short journal makes me want to kill myself. I guess this is where I come to when I've had enough instead of actually talking to somebody. That's just sad. It was supposed to be about photos but I haven't touched my camera in weeks (lack of thunderstorms might be the reason) and my ToEdit folder is larger than life. However, I won't be doing any of that in the near future, I've lost all interest in everyone and everything, I'm starting off from scratch and let's see where this takes us. Uhm.. just me... screw you guys, I'm going home.