The sun is setting. All you hear is a buzz of long distance car horns from inner suburbia, the breeze between the fake-real trees, and your quiet feet padding on the concrete creeping between the cracks of where your earbuds fail to completely fit the shape of your ears. Your hair won't completely stay out of your face, so you tuck it behind your ear, assuming you somewhat look like a try hard nonconformist, but who cares, hair is annoying. Where do you go from here? You can stay on the sidewalk and loop around the block, or take the path less traveled. You decide to keep walking, remembering what it's like to get lost and not quite enjoying the sensation of burning guts and churning emotion that accompanies not knowing where to turn next. As you get lost in your indie music you begin to think. About the future. The past. What you wish you would've done. What you wouldn't have. All of the things that could've been said. The things that shouldn't have been. Before you realize what's going on you feel tears creeping down your cheeks. What is this? "I don't cry," you tell yourself. Stop crying. You never cry. Ever. You can't help it, they won't stop. All the while you're releasing an emotion that you yourself aren't comfortable feeling, you begin to realize that it's almost refreshing. Like your face is the shore and your tears are the tide rolling in. While it is completely ruining you on the outside, beneath the surface you're being renewed. As you examine yourself, you subconsciously take in the sky that looks like the citrus section of a fruit bowl was ran over and smeared with dry paint brushes. You pull out your phone and take a picture, but it can't quite capture the beauty of it all, so you take a seat. You pull your hair back. You lay down on the side walk, and although you're sure the pedestrians assume you're crazy, you don't care. Because nothing could ever best solitude. Solitude is bliss.