Already the season is changing and I have yet to board the ship. The time is lapsing and I feel the urge to miss. And as we do go passing, like two strong solid ships, you will be full of passengers and I will be full of shit. There is a different kind of air coming in from the east and it is uplifting me from my sit, demanding greatness at least... but I have misplaced my feet to step up to the plate and I am starving for a solitude that has me clothed in a terrifying defeat. I imagine me seeing you in a warmed little shop, touching trinkets and ruffling hair, paying no attention to the clock. All the while I am seeing you I can't help but feel like I don't belong and I probably never will due to my turning infiltration of devouring myself. And as I cause a ripple in my own stream I will always admire that you were grounded there with memories while I was off on a forever flee.