Every morning, before I go to bed, I look out a small window. I'd listen to songs. Hell, I always listen to music and I think. Oh, I do that a lot, too.
I'd watch the cars. I'd watch the people. I'd even watch some dogs milling about. And I think.
Sometimes, I wonder if they share the same thoughts as I. And other times, I'm completely lost in my own world of endless streams of what would, could and should have beens. Translates to hope or regret, eh? A fine line separates these thoughts.
I regret. I savour. I long. But there are moments that I simply don't care.
Lovers had. Fancy scored. Dreams lost. I still find cause to hope, though. All masked by cynicism.
It's quite ridiculous, really.