He has spent the last few years in the dull weary asylum built by his own two hands. He had caved himself into self hatred, distrust, and loneliness. He has finally grown the strength to rip down the walls he secluded himself into and for the first time in a long time he smelled the fresh air he hasn’t smelled for a while. For so long he was clogged into a musty humid dank solitude that he forgot what the breeze on his face felt like. His pale skin soaked in the sunlight that pried through the clouds and even though things weren’t the same he was free. He wandered across the world he seems not to know anymore a world that was dehumanizing but deceived the crowds with bright trees seems to have finally found a face to fit its personality. The trees leaves were green and the streets didn’t have potholes but the sidewalk carried cracks deeper than before, the trees bark had bark that seemed sick just as his soul once was. He carries on tasting the mist that confronts him from the dew of the early morning, he was surrounded by not one living person, but he liked it that way, he felt safe, but he sensed the heavy melancholy the roots bared. He wasn’t oblivious anymore, he isn’t deceived by the leaves but he feels with the roots, he bares a responsibility to not bring happiness for that is temporary, he bares the responsibility to bring contentment to those roots not just merely the leaves, for the leaves grow yellow and wither off the branches every fall. His sour and bitter life brought him lessons many others haven’t yet experienced, his self inflicted loneliness taught him his greatest company was his soul, and no matter how much you ignore it, it screams through crevices in the sidewalk where the roots taste a little bit of sunlight.