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I know it was real because there was beauty in the leaves.  The weather never did anything wrong, even when it poured and the rain soaked through my clothes, chilling my skin and sending me shivering to the car.  I wonder what it’s like to feel weightless, to float away and leave behind these working parts without thinking twice about it, because all I do is dig until there’s nothing left in the ground and my hands are left raw and bleeding and stiff from its tight grip.  Your arms have grown cold and someone else is finding beauty in the melting snow while these words roll off my tongue like wet cement and I still try to find the reasons or even a speck of understanding.  I know more than you think, and it hits me like bullets in the chest every time.  There’s always something better, but it’s really all the same.