Never warm

I've walked these streets so many times before. Under the rain. Under the sun. Under the stars. They stay the same. They never change. They never make me feel glad to be there.

No matter when, no matter how, no matter the reason, walking on this grey concrete has always made me feel like old death. Like an old casket, turned inside out. Cold. Never warm.

I hate this. I always have. I always will. I will never enjoy this walk. Under any weather. Under any circumstances. For any reason.

All this walking. All this cold. All this hate. It's this world. It's this path. It's for any reason. It's for no reason at all. It's how I live. It's my life.