My secrets are all hidden underneath poached eggs and hollandaise sauce as the sun creeps up over the horizon after another sleepless night. The requisite, routine, clearly, clearly, that's reasonable. I was surprised by your cunning, clever nature. You are so much more than you seem.

I fell in love with the process, like the little black notes that make up a slow jam or the pores on your body all clogged and gasping for air. The little spaces in between the letters seem so functional, so right. I am grabbed at grabbed at too too much. Radios and drama, culminating in a slow and painful downward spiral that never seems to end.

The green bar at the top of the marquee distracted me and I walked into pole after pole. I have saved this afternoon for you, don't you know! I paused and rewound and found the perfect spot to stop and rescue you. The sea birds are a little faster than me. The mermaids will not sing for me. They see through my game.

And I can't recreate the sound of home, like I want to. And the bed is so empty without you next to me. And the drive is long and lonely and without destination.