The truth deceives me like hell in the midst of winter.  Each crack in the sidewalk counts as every mistake I have made in my life, mostly the faults of the past.  One, two, three blinks of the traffic light and I consider sitting in the middle of the street like a bipolar victim.  But what misfortune could come when I stop traffic daily?  My scarf whips in the wind and my boots make unique footprints in the snow that are similar of those of a rabbit running like crazy through the trees avoiding…other rabbits.  Why stick with your kind when there are so many other possibilities?  I live for nights when the moon is huge because its eyes find beauty on Earth.  Maybe someday I can go there and return the compliment.  I sit on the frigid swing and refuse to leave it because it’s the only way to kick my legs up to heaven.  Why  would anyone do anything different?