My little golden cage on top of the hill

Walking down the streets, feeling the cold on my face, thinking about things I can't avoid thinking,
remembering the dreams I had this week, red waters, ghost, cars, my family and Ainsley all gowned up, clutter, beach, John, fancy clothes... and then, I get back to the cold in my face, the book I'm reading inspired me to go back to write on my blog, but is hard, for all the things I want to write about.
Lately NY is been hitting me so hard, I've cry for this reason, but not so many times, just a couple when I can't contain myself. The thought of leaving it's been in my head for a while now, is something that I can only think about and do nothing really, not jet.
I been feeling the solitude of the city, I commute, I eat and I sleep alone, 3 of the things I do the most.
When I get home I got nobody to talk to, or more likely, I got nobody I want to talk with, I'm becoming more and more like a hermit on my little golden cage on the top of the hill, looking down for the dragons that can't trespass me anymore and take what I have left.