never could analyze light reflecting patterns … no … it was always too unspoken to be known … the things that are without words thankfully … such an old worn out langauge couldn’t keep up with us anyway …

i remember your hands and the veins that would bulge beneath as you played with strings on a guitar and nights on my skin and i thought between the haze of it all maybe there was something i was missing … the dashing and white knight mentality a little too much for me at first … the ringing of telephone electric signals shouting at me to get my attention and gregarious enough to pay attention … to every word whispered like dreams … soft and faint and disappearing when you try to hold on to it too much … like you … but the past is such a thing as well and i try to hold on to remembering exactly why … that was always it though; there is no why … there is only what is done … a widing oblivion of moments i want to remember and you want so much to forget and you always did eventually get what you wanted … you being the split-second syndrome and i the infinite night stars victim , the broken mirror stereotype … i am only a passing dream, forgotten at dawn … you never were much of one for the morning after