I cringe as the light slowly settles in on my pale skin wrapped in sheets. How is it that I feel almost gone at the break of a new day? I wonder to myself, or I may have said aloud. My neighbors seem to rush on by quickly, as the steam rising from my coffee burns my lips and wakes me up. People running, sweeping, brushing by my still half drooped eyes and I move only frame by frame taking note of this. The trees must be tickling the wind forcing it to bounce back and forth from side to side blowing my unkempt hair over my face and the smoke from my “Good morning” cigarette seems to be dancing, which brightens the daylight though I am not sure why. This is routine, from my third story apartment porch the real world darts on by moving at a swift pace only a mind could fathom, though I am here as an observer and my body moves leisurely to say the least in comparison, though who is comparing?