It was 11:59pm last night a second prior to fallen Cupid’s raising. I clearly remember the fullness of lips, filled with words, which so often prove meaningless, in a world where integrity is often as temperamental as the weather. The seconds passed and the clock hit midnight. I locked eyes with eyes whose color are forgotten, not yet sure if such a stare would ever be relived. Except perhaps, in mind, in self confidence where all things are possible, safer, less shameful, and notions of intangible states are ever present. I licked my lips to ease their dryness in search of lingering flavors no longer present. I rested my head on the pillow, buried my face amidst its scents, until I found that spot which transcends beyond the here, to the unclear there. Shaken, cold, and unsure why, I lost myself to a dreamless sleep and woke up where I left behind, still dreaming, lost in scents, flavors and the dryness of lips, at a lost to the softness of another’s. My day was marked by fantasy, desire, and the relived senses of my making, still lost in colorless eyes with irisis reflecting past me and pupils that see right through me, stripping me of garbs and shields and perhaps, if only for a moment, connecting. Nothing could however shake my feeling of disconnection in my apathetic guise of worry-not. At times I can not help but think that what is done is done, at times for much too long, as I have done today. This is how the hours passed as Apollo’s act came to an end; the close of day brought a nearer tomorrow and the sun set beyond the eye of a beholder, who remained unsettled.
