Remembering Sunday, for old time's sake.

You notice how the light changes outside your window, you watch people & they fascinate you in a way you don't understand, yet you don't feel connected to them. You never approach anyone, you live your life without involving anyone else.

To dance with your migraine, they'll stop rolling by.

We stopped looking for monsters under our beds because we realized they're all inside us.

Paper cranes dangling from the rafters alongside me.

I questioned myself today, wondered if I was an anachronism, someone who just doesn't belong, because I've never felt right in my own skin.

I can't turn a street corner without tripping over your feet.

The baker's wife has you on display, window shopping at it's finest, I've always wanted to crack your eyes across patio furniture, trickling down, concrete scrambled breakfast time for two.

A shameful skeleton for the dusty recesses of my closet.

I was always replaceable, disposable, a cheap imitation of the real thing. I let you use me as a counterfeit.