dear life 67

dear life,
everywhere is gray, everywhere is cold, everywhere is sad. everywhere are cars, and streets are deserted of living people, as if you are leaving us all alone, not even looking back. maybe you are looking back but you can't see anything as the pollution is making you blind. the smug is covering the city, the smug is bringing us to tears, the smug is making us cough, the smug is choking us. and yet you are not doing anything for us; but really, why should you when we ourselves are not doing anything for ourselves? all i am thinking of now is a novel i once read entitled "blindness". how much more time do we have till we reach that blindness?