looking at the world through fuzzy eyes in the sun, my sun, the air reminds me of old dreams, slightly rusted with an aged hint of love hanging on them but no longer the real texture of it. creases appear suddenly, and it's best not to be ashamed. the evening breeze feels like an empty promise, but i still hang on to it and let it carry me into the dark, like a dandelion parachute, twisting and twirling and wished upon. i remember when missing the awe and the warmth was innocent; now the evenings and mornings and days shred themselves into small, golden, glistening, sharp shards ready to rain upon the memory - and i look for silence in the laboured breathing. search for explosions, as i always do, an obsession to find the ones that go unnoticed, that get drowned out in the city. the city lights peaceful and lonely and beautiful these days. & then a familiar song comes on and pulls at you, like a child that cant sleep because of the thunder outside, and you turn around and embrace it; it doesnt matter how pretty or how worn out the face you associate with it... in the end, hope. how much has the sun see me move under this skin, but the sunset behind the church always winks with a painting on the sky. a reminder - life is extraordinary, he said