Broken.

The cloudy sky cast odd hues of light everywhere. Here a bit of orange, there a bit of red, a bit of blue over that-a-ways. But mostly, it was dark. Silvery wisps of fog swirled across the stone-paved streets, making them slick and shiny under the street lamps lining the wooden sidewalks.

But no passersby stopped to admire the smoothly polished cobblestones or the many-colored hues of the sky. Instead, with their gaze planted firmly on the plank sidewalks beneath their feet, each person hurried by, oblivious to the simple beauty surrounding them.

Tall concrete buildings rose to nudge the very lowest limits of the sky, it seemed, housing hundreds of people each. A half a mile or so farther, the tall concrete buildings were replaced by long, squat asphalt buildings, smokestacks rising from each. Brown-grey smoke rose in puffs day and night, filling the sky with the ugly byproducts of the factories.


A few stray droplets of rain plopped softly onto the ground, followed by a few more. And a few more, and a few more, until it seemed that the sky itself wept at the ruin that the land had become.

Without regrets.

Sometimes, I dream. I dream that life is perfect and sweet and simple. I dream that my life isn't strange and convoluted and twisted. Because honestly, it's not. I know that my life isn't half bad. But of course there are things that I would change, if I had the chance. Friendships that I've messed up. Words better left unspoken. Time wasted and abused.

There is no way to live completely without regrets.

But I certainly wish that I could.