I have to thank the night shift.
With nothing else to do I stumbled across you by mistake.
With most of the work almost done.
My ears took a stroll.
Four hours left before I clock out.
My Pandora took an awkward twist.
A long pause of an ad, the quirk of a song I haven't heard before.
Before I could hit the skip button I realized that I found something I had no idea I was missing.
I paused in momentary combustion.
This orchestra of cool followed by bass.
And to think I would tragically have been mistaken to skip along.
Staring off into space.
I have nothing to offer except my ear.
Shamefully I can admit.
I have never had someone to come and visit me on the clock.
But I could get use to it.
Just my opinion.
This psychedelic feeling that found me twiddling my fingers.
Nothing much to do.
Except fall in love unexpectedly.
Four hours later the same song stuck in my head.
This station all the more better
Stumbling into you out of the blue

If you were a song you'd be number one on my playlist.
No matter how much time would past.
I'd never get tired of hearing you.
Theres not enough radio time for how much I think your voice needs to be heard.
You are too beautiful for words.
Finding time for all of your songs is like making love.
The two of us lost in a moment hung on continuous repeat.
A grin spread ear to ear.
Nominated for the grammy of my heart.
Your fabulous taste in music.
The vocals that feel like they were written for me.
Within the first ten seconds I am in complete ecstasy.
The advance my heart makes.
Skipping it's beat to the rhythm of your heart.
If I can be the next venue you choose to perform.
You'd never have to question why'd it take so long to appreciate you.
Bobbing my head to the vibe you give.
The smile spread across my lips.
Your the only thing I need circulating through my headphones

Then I realized my mistake.
I searched the world not realizing that the world I longed existed inside of you.
Wherefore I felt I needed some sort of permission.
Some sort of console.
Instead of accepting the card I knew hid face down in a deck of the same face cards.
I manipulated the cards to what I knew best.
The only thing I felt was real.
The inevitable.
I was the veil whom dangled in wait.
The classic a-ha moment when all would be revealed.
Not realizing that I myself was a part of the illusion.
The one I kept at arms reach.
A realm filled with room upon room of smoke and mirrors.
Face down on top of a hat.
Waiting for some sort of hand to reach down and pull me toward what I already knew.
I was stuck in an illusion

Hate is such a strong word.
Yet you show me plenty of it.
You first flash your gun.
In compensation to cut wages.
Yet you remember me.
How you should have listened.
A siren of power rung.
the hands that flashed adamantly "no, please don't."
You ignore my cry.
Covering me in the congress of actions seen.
I guess bad decisions in part.
Act first speak later.
My spirit shattered in false hope.
I put firm trust in the light that flashed from your badge.
Thinking to myself its all a mistake.
To think I was half right.
It's much easier to edit flim or tape.
The disguise worn scene to scene.
You were never held accountable for your word or action.
In a couple of months everything will be thrown out.
A face sagged in misery.
Treating me your very worse,
Refusing to see that your very belief is the problem.
I couldn't say a thing.
The claps of your sole echoing against concrete.
A new victim found.
No matter how fast you run,
Your disguise can never hide what you've done.
You fled the scene before my body dropped.

It's relatively a slow process.
A thought builds upon anticipation.
Thanks to the nostalgia ingrained by Disney.
Musically the songs are different.
Granted the press of a thumb.
Spotify, Pandora.
An assortment of different streams all profoundly deep.
Separately, the adaptation is the same.
Boy meets girl.
Eyes go on vacation.
Suddenly we're dressed in leisure.
Beautiful sights ingested by the brochures of a hotel lobby.
Just yesterday none of this seemed possible.
Everything crowed into the bends of a folded booklet.
Lost in the sensation of influential taste.
This was my outlook.
A yesterday morning spent in the hotel lobby of my own interest.
I am in sense booking my own fear.
This slow process that begins it's advance.
A millennium that begins a couple seconds past twelve.
She was the art visually spread across the brochure.
With arms wide open I fell in.
Speeding up this process ever slightly.
I still a consumer at best.
Her being the best vacation I ever been.
I am in sense booking my own fear.
Her love.
Further more exploring the secret of her parenthesis

She gave him life in the whim of passion.
Drawing lines of pleasure. All of her pain that she's felt over the years.
The very existence of all she's ever dreamed.
All in the hopes that he'd never do the same.
He and he alone would stand the test of time.
The portrayal of locking eyes, deep shades of gray.
Drawn and retraced.
A homesickness suffered from the gift of tender eyes.
She remembers the nights the rain wouldn't cease.
The creases her face made in grief.

In the end. All she had was the sketch pad that never left her side.
He alone took each tear and rested his head beside them.

Her sketch pad.

This vigorous sketch that stared off into the distance.
She screamed of warning to the oncoming flood.
The beads of blue that traced every drop of rain.
Blending bright and dark hues to the paper of her pad.
Wool combs of hair colored in, blending into the background.
She thought long and hard.
First filling his hands with roses then taking them away.

Deep marks left behind from a couple of flicks of her wrist.
An eroding eraser.
The blossoming of a new sketch, a tremble of thought.
The rain came back even harder.
More fierce the next sketch she made.
Paved and coated over and over again.
A fear that she would never become the recipient of all she's dreamed.
Someone that would love her for all that she keeps hidden.
She reacted to the woes of thunder and lightning.
A tear made deep then covered.
Resistant to all shes felt.
A deep pain struck against the burrow of her heart.
Every flower in the valley of her screamed in anguish to the water that continuously fell.
The valley becoming a gutter in front of the driveway she drew.
Blue and gray hues crosshatched across the page.
Surrounding him in the background.
Here he stood outside in the rain for hours in front of an empty house.
His heart replacing the roses that filled his hands.
Within the confines of her sketch pad she illustrated her best friend.
The best friend she's ever known.
Someone that she could trust.
Made her feel whole.
Here within the confines of her sketch pad.
she illustrated how he made her feel.
She drew breath into his lungs in true fear.
Knowing that somethings aren't meant to happen.
Of all things that she loved. She loved herself the most.
Promising that she would never feel this hurt again.
The torment of having something precious ripped away.
A homesickness suffered from the gift of tender eyes.
She remembers the nights the rain wouldn't cease.
The creases her face made in grief.
It was that night she made the promise never again.
She drew her best friend in a world.
Cold and alone.
All within the confines of her sketch pad.
Where she felt she could be herself.
Illustrating the exact way he made her feel

And I regret not following the after thought my heart throbs.
Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me.
Watching you follow.
Watching you lead.
Turn around and recommend the next best thing.
Rather than the havoc that ensues following a river of blue ink.
I've lost my cap in it's essence.
Creating messes unseen. Still I know it's there.
I begin to drown.
Shaped into a plastic mold of where she's last stepped.
I could only hope to be healed in recommendation.
 
She drew me to life in her river of ink.
Filling the gaps of my imperfection with lines traced in blue.
My after thought drenched in red.
Watching you follow.
Watching you lead.
My heart has tripled in rhythm.
 
There isn't anything to learn here, everything is fundamentally natural.
This open willingness to self destruct.
This open willingness that generates anticipation.
Our history has been written as an open mouth kiss
Between hand and ink.
And I regret not following the after thought my heart beats any sooner.
Our courage to spill into the unknown