Give me your best impression of the light behind your eyes. When it burns out, what are you to do? A candle in the window will draw strays and runaways to the door, but best friends to the glass. Will you blink back to me through the black?

I’ve got longing down to shorthand – practiced, perfected, really quite pitiful. But there is a task for every talent, just wait until you get a load of mine.

Let’s blow this sad and sleepy party, light a fire beneath an eclipse that never says “good morning.” On paper, do you feel the smoke settling in layers across your body? Feel the faint and fucked up echos of things you have simply forgotten? If you don’t, don’t be alarmed. I remember.

What do you get for the girl who loses everything?  Patience? A plot? A mind? A temper?

You should know that I went back there, after. She came along a few times and got drunk while I looked around and got drunk. When she was there, I started noticing that I felt some kind of rush, like guilt. I only became sure of it one night after she left, then briefly returned. I said something which caused her to leave again, and the feeling eased.

I had not immediately processed the fact that the rush hit before I knew she had come back. There was something there with me. I went home, and she was there waiting.

Love, let me see you greenshift. I’ll make you famous in all the empty places and they’ll say “welcome, do not be alarmed.”

It isn’t home, but it’s closer than you remember. Do you remember what to do?