I see through the pained walls. Paper shoved in a box. People with bags, trucks, and motorcycles. Mail spread like jam on butter. But where's mine? They will always forgot even if they try they would. What? Because I am lonely. I am not a human nor animal. I am not a Devil nor Angel. I am not god nor earth. I am me. A lonely tree. I see my friends in halves by the end. And truly soonly I will become mail it's self...