The penultimate floor is plunged into darkness before the woods are. I’m stroking your shoulders, distancing cold rain that’s knocking on windows is ostensibly crying, reminds of the distance we are torn apart. The ravens are flying to thousands bits from frames of the wirings, like silver cold threads that are keep with devotion dividing the glass, remind of the ocean, we are torn apart. I’m looking at walkways that lead to the Sun and think of you always.