A desolate heart?

  The land is desolate, as desolate as my heart. I sometimes wonder whether I feel this way because the land is empty, or if the land seems more empty because I feel this way. "Sigh, nothing is ever going to change." Glass crunches beneath my boots and I freeze my movements. Too much sound can lead to problems. I scan the area around me, looking for anything that  could be a danger.
  The city around me appears to be deserted. Burned out cars line the roads and windows are smashed in most buildings, many are themselves burned out hulks. The wind blows trash in spirals and whistles through and around the buildings. It is an eery sound, almost like a moan from a sad ghost.
   Whatever is in this city though, most likely it is not friendly. Nothing is friendly anymore. To live and survive one must be hard as stone and tough as nails. Even the wind is mean in its coldness and emptiness. I tighten my jacket around myself and continue onward, because moving forward is the only thing left to do now.

I think this may just start my next story. I know it may need a little bit of work, but I think the thought is a good one.