Her cold crisp energy rushes by in the sweltering slanted sun, its unclean friction swirling continually in me. Chaos has always been anxiously melded in the belly of the beast, created of nothing but thoughts momentarily bemused upon. I must learn to contain these urges, emulsified only by surging electricity, fashioned in the expansiveness of each precious happening. Even if this manipulation continues, I will adamantly feign objection.
I am forcibly astounded by my own skills of mediocrity. I predict that these contributions you make will incite my fuse to blow. Although my sense of direction is impeccable, time and the spectrum of light are subjectively perceived. Rosy contentment coexists with subdued blue only on my watch. Considering this, and my freshly realized heartbreak, I can't halt the acidic panic rising in the locks. At least I can hold on to the memory of those few days, exquisite and delicate and quite capable of shattering my heart. Perhaps that is the best that we can do.
Let's go back to New York. Walk in the sun, sit by the lake. You'll be bleary eyed and delirious when I arrive, and as I get in the cab I will cry at the loss of what we can never achieve again.
