Cathy Roe.

I walk through the city, not another soul in sight. Abandoned windows stare at me with an intensity that appears hungry and hollow. It flows like water no longer, it catches, stumbles. The stars are empty, glaring at me. The bell tolls it's sad tale and I wonder if anybody sees what I see, notices the grains in the brick or the tears in the tortured old man's eyes. A negative perception.

Are the stars meant to shine with meaning? Every flower glow with life? Strangers smiles fill me with joy?

I love my Grandma like a best friend.