There's been a lot of debate lately. Something about the whisper and another about ghost limbs and ghost touch and all I can truly say is that winter was warmer than it ever was this year and summer was downright chilly. Things haven't been going the right way up or the right way down and it just feels like an envelope of air that I can't escape, a sterile environment that leaves skin untouched and hearts unblemished by the difficulty of opening your eyes with the rising of the sun. And it all started when you turned away and with every step you took in that direction flowers wilted on the other side of the world when they ought to have been blooming and the ice caps dripped into the ocean, it triggered the spontaneous combustion of a leaf atop some place in the amazon and a butterfly flew into the window. I know I could tell you that the correlation between every step you took and these bizarre events in nature didn't exist but it just isn't how I see it. Bad things happen every day but they echoed over and over and over and over the day you stopped looking at me like I had stars in my eyes. You clenched your fists and it was like you had my heart in your palm that day. Then there was the day the sky fell and the clouds cried and the sun screamed through the winds; it was also the day you walked away. The day the ground fell away. And since then I've been breathing in ash and drinking poison in an effort to wash away my grief. Since then the sky has turned blue and black and yellow. Since then the glass is always emptied and the bed is never made. You were the chains the bound and the scissors in the opening ceremony. I was never a searing footprint in the ground, I was only a faded picture tacked on the cork board in your childhood home that you burnt down years ago.