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The Beauties of Life
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@boxcarblue
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The snow fell,
an army of old men with wings. And as they piled, I imagined them penned, like the old man that Gabriel Garcia Marquez had penned into my head— alone and betrayed, pissed on by drunks, trampled by chickens and men, the likes of myself, until the absolute white of their wings became grey with the dust and the grime of the wind and the world.
I knew then,
that on various days, in various hours, and in various moods, the beauties of life would take to the air, one by one, and make leave of this place.
As always, thank you for reading.
