The light tapping of rain dripped down my head the world spinning around me with the sounds of silence shining through the blackened storm clouds the forest of soft pine blocked the sounds of only filtering the feeling through the ringings of others.
Watching the world from the tree line was interesting an act only carried out by creatures of nature and people seen as mentally ill but I watch the buzzing of others and their stories of love, compassion, the ups, and downs even the broken stories followed within their pages there lines
That would cross between the main plot and background characters in their own sitcoms the stories never changed each story only had different characters the world was left cold and Lonely for the watcher.
But who would know because no one was watching him in the white static of nature.
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