i thought about you today. quite a ****** experience, to be honest. the iron box full of sick confessionals that is your heart made me squint at the wall in front of me. my pen stopped writing and fell down my frayed scrap of paper like a raindrop on a car window, and i felt like a child confronted by a nasty bug. picturing your face. im still staring at the wall wondering if these thoughts deserve any complex, wrinkled thesaurus found words. i frown as i notice a crack in the paint. they dont.