Its not really a story. I'm could have been but I never thought of a plot.
The world became an almost distant dream as I lay wearily in my bed. Caught somewhere between divine sleep and harsh reality. The wind blew in from the open window, my black curtains swirled effortlessly in the wind, with the same grace as a flying swan, or better yet, the grace of the shadows in the night.
I love the shadows, how they swirl and dance as the wind carries and slaps the object they portray on the ground. Shadows mistify me, to a very great extent, they're so beautiful yet they symbolise evil, corruption and darkness. Pehaps people don't understand how beautiful they truly are. It cannot be described.
The sunlight however isn't as, dare I say, attractive. It creates the shadows but it surrounds them with light. Shadows make the pavement feel three dimentional and alive. I know seeing this from your perspective and mine would differ quite largely.
My world is filled with shadows. They whisper the secrets of the earth do me. They sing to me of their history. They wish to break free. They're the beautiful harpies that we tread on in today's society. But Shadows...Are my world.