Infinite

I get tired of being in this space, place, like a waste. World full of beauty, and I'm on Zara's website looking at a rabbit-tortured-Angora-sweater... And actually contemplating buying one because it looks so pretty. Not. Moral fiber has got to be stronger than that. I always miss when the sky is slowly fading into night- the beautiful pink and purple, lighting up the sky while it darkens. I yearn for dirt under my feet, cool air, dew resting on my face. I like the way my hair tangles up into waves the morning after, but hate the feeling of oil on my scalp. I tire of sleeping between the hours of 6pm and 9pm. Sometimes, I don't remember what it feels like to be so awake and alive, like all of the air I take in is fresh, like my life is so small that it feels... infinite.