So many things to say. Between the floods and raindrops, pain and heartthrobs, living for better, for worse, for now, for following through on the sins we commit to. Somehow we expect to see light. I can feel with my skin but it's blistering, I can't hear, but I know you're not listening. You'd be here anon and otherwise punctual. Instead you're a societal gut-punch who makes me puke. Truthfully, I'd set camp come the dusk where I knew I could feel the warmth from your bridges burned. Feel the light, dried and cracked. Tell me what you learned.