Thought of the Day

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white.
And in between the moon and you the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain, Through myself and back again. Where? I don't know.
Maria says she's dying. Through the door I hear her crying. Why? I don't know.
Round here we always stand up straight. Round here something radiates.
~ Counting Crows