Cold Cold Cold.

A stranger in the horizon. Concrete jungles bare no smiles, often kids with serious faces. Outside is harsh, frozen winds playing butcher with my face. So many beautiful women in this town, none with a happy face. Determined to go somewhere, determined to meet someone or get some mission accomplished. I have no place in particular that I must bravely march onto, just a hillside beyond this frozen wasteland. The weather in this place I call home paralyzed all that is my heart. It's stuck in time, still dancing with the temptress who stole it. But even Odysseus spent a few years under the rule of a deceiving beauty, it's fair.
I assume it is hard for us to cross this sea of lovers alone.

Darling you fill my heart with gunpowder and throw your matches at it. Another afternoon wasted in daydreams. The cold is like cocaine, it lights you up. Sit by the fire and sleep, or spend another night in the cold with the cigarrette ember guiding your way home. My fingertips feel some nervous warmth everytime an ideal girl passes by, but life doesn't work that way.
Assuming all actions have a consequence I would have had a chance to meet this girl had I not taken away 2 minutes from my journey to grab a cup of coffee, but even so I am far too timid.
Your face looks best in the afternoon, you make me so happy and you don't even know it.
There is beauty in loneliness, unfortunately I can't see it.

I want to fall in love, I do. But it's such a hard task. In the city love is a very difficult and beaurocratic process that takes attempt after attempt and legions of brave words corageous enough to understand they might not make it back home. It's because of the weather, I have a feeling.