The wind does not blow cold anymore.
My eyes only see things that are not clear to me.
I run to them as if the are bright as the sun.
Then I get blinded by the light of the things I thought I had.
When will I learn to live my truth?
I keep trying to find the hope that lives inside these walls.
Then I remember these are the walls I built to keep the truth from hurting.
The truth that nobody ever notices.
Not even me.
That my dream no longer has me.
Misconception 