Sad

In the gray alleys of the city, a man walks alone. His shadow is drawn heavier than ever on the cobblestones; it is as if sadness is a garment that he never takes off. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, but he sees nothing but memories that fade one by one. He speaks with his silence, with a resentment that breaks in his throat every night and is rebuilt in the morning. His loneliness is neither a choice, nor a fate; just a cold reality that he wakes up with every morning and sleeps with at night. And in the meantime, only the wind sometimes caresses his hair; the only thing he still remembers is alive.