you know, you selfish clown, i want to be like you. every second of every day that passes by, i want to be like you. more and more. self-conserved. self-preserved. i want to be like you, shut up in a box without ventilation, so that even the air can't feel your bare skin. so that i am not the stereotype of a shadow, or a rain cloud that drizzles rain aimlessly across borders. because i want to construct this alley with pebble stones that you have never seen, or smelt, or touched. because your solitude is my envy.

you selfish clown, i want you back. i need your soul and your cleansing blood so that i never regret my days. so that those silly tittle tattles don't come in my way to peace. i need your breath, because i have your fever. and it won't go away, i swear. it won't, until you tie me a ribbon and tell me that you will give me your solitude.

i need it and you need to understand. come on, selfish clown, perk up your soul

note

and this is why, i said the other day, let's sit down and count the stars. it's been a long long time since dover days, and i've forgotten your face. just a little bit, while the color fades away. and there's no one to tie your hair, you silly girl, because you run away every time i see you.
it's the grass you've never liked that i miss the most. and this serene spread of mist all over the mountain, hewing a waft of cool, wet air all over you.
and then was home. in the middle of woods and bricks -in a small lighted corner that i had once seen in my dreams. do you know what it smells like -this potion of mud and sweat drizzled with my patience? of course not.

because i know it is all about your proximity. and your disregard for distance. and your thumb twiddling tendencies to gravitate. calm down, little one, this is just the beginning.