City Orchards Old Gray

Each night, I decorate the walls of my room with sketches of a city I've never seen. (I've held the same air in my lungs for the past seventeen years- I think it's time for a fresh breath, but only as time will allow. Do you think that you can trick time into thinking that it never passed? Do you really think each new memory can just replace the last?)
I pay attention to the finer details, like the crooked and tired buildings that cast shadows over lonely playgrounds and the dim lamp posts lighting the road like an infinite set of sad eyes. When it's time to sleep, I lay on my back and stare at my makeshift night sky. I always forget the stars. And each morning, when I wake, I always wake up alone. So I erase my walls and start again. Do I dare disturb the universe?