Before lunch I find myself searching, padding down the crevasses of my mind to find an incriminating memory I can resent you for. In the morning, when I sit up, coughing out the dreams of you, I find myself cringing at the monument I reluctantly build in your peculiar likeness. And then I find it weirdest, most uncanny that the morning into afternoon changes you. And there you are, pale faced light behind your hair [a dangerously picturesque image looms] ring of fire in your eyes And there I am finding you for the first time.
posted by Tazarat @ 2:45 AM