you wake up under a bridge, on a tarmac road. the surface of it breathes and whispers with the wind- although, placing a finger to the air, you realise there was never wind at all.
moving to stand, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the metal of the bridge. something is off, something in your eyes, and you realise the pair of you are not on speaking terms.
your feet drag on the ground as you walk away, led by something (someone?) towards a field of grass. they seem to stare at you, somehow. you wish you’d blinded them when you had the chance.
stood in the meadow with your hands splayed, you see darker clouds assemble on the horizon. rain is coming, and you wish you knew how to make the sky stop crying.