i don't want to be party to all that you want me to be, ever. miss a beat in the main point, tell me how i could be. vague terms; confused. ignore my way of thinking; shut down argument and go on your way.
sun glows neon-bright in the midday sky. this time of year, it's not warm. beams of light ripple through trees; trying to capture the image is fun. later, i crank the lever on a wishing well and toss some coins back.
clumsy hands move to light a line of candles, all shrouded in shadow. movements are slow, and inefficient. the goddess will not be pleased yet. she waits for a sign, ready to demonstrate her worship, and falters.
there's blush pink tinting the sky, glowing across too much space to fathom. a dress is dyed in dark pink which lightens as it dries: it remains unnamed. it's gone light, called blush pink, equal to the sky's tone and all quite by chance.
you're captivating, they say. what they don't tell you (yet) is how or why. sometimes you think there's a slim chance of getting to know. it doesn't happen. understanding is a game, one played by half the players and won by none.
typical summer night, densely humid, and still air-con's not enough. sneak to the kitchen, find a glass of ice water still dripping with cold. morning dawns, dark and crisp, cold air curling around the bus stop's edges.
candy, soft and sweet, soon gives way to sharp tart tastes - mouth-twistingly so. chocolate, rich and dark, leaves the imagination pondering sugar. and the end of the bar fades, dipped in hot coffee, mingling bitter-sweet.