Feelings are thin, like a layer of paint. The state of my mind, my heart, my soul, in regard to you, isn't a feeling. It permeates, goes down through all the layers of strangeness that are me. I call this sensation love, but love means so many things, it's become such a cheap word. Maybe it means nothing at all anymore.

Time is an illusion. It comes, it goes, it flows....and always, I swim upstream.

You, with your sweet, blue, blue eyes. It seems so wrong, so perverse, that life forces us to live and act as though we were enemies. If we never speak again, still my salmon heart swims in the same direction as long as it beats.

Alas.....