They grow on the walls. Like fruit on the trees. Like dirt on the streets. Like dust covers mirrors. Like mold covers minds. Unlike they grow on the ground. Sometimes with leaves, sometimes with roots. I guess they never get born. They look like dying but death has forgotten about them. They never ask for help or for water. They also do not talk much.
I saw them on the brick wall, they were not individual anymore. They became a part of a still life. They were so mortal. No sign of happiness, no bit of cheer, just monumental cold blood.
They grow without a reason or purpose. With only one direction – up to the stars. They believe that stars can save them from pseudo-cannibal living. They are being absorbed by the walls they grow on. It is not strange anymore. This is reality, human and harsh. You may come across people who will remind of them. No hope, no love, no belief. Just an empty and ultra-casual look. Money has bought nearly everything. That is why they are almost dead. Many of you do not want to recognize them. The nature turned from human into brutal. The washing machine does the washing-up but does not wash our hands.
Somebody take pills, I prefer vitamins. But they never take it for granted. They like drizzling. Girls like chatting, boys like arguing, but when it rains heavily, they like drizzling. They lie on the walls, grow up and feel like drizzling. Their favourite season is autumn. You mght have noticed that they are not like the others. Well, it is easy and uninteresting to be ordinary and predictable. That is why they chose to grow on the walls but not on the ground. Simple as milk on the lips. Do not be gray! Spring will arrive on time.