placid, adj. Sometimes I love it when we just lie on our backs, gaze off, stay still.

How sad it must be for you to be nothing more than a hollow statue, to have your tomb preserved and your story forgotten.

I never know what you really want, if I can give it to you, or if I’m already too late.

I barely notice colors unless I taste them. Not the yellows or the greens. I taste the deeper blues. The darker reds.

I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.

Yes, time can be buoyed by wordlessness, but it needs to be anchored in words.

Fate has a strange way of making plans.