Clear blue, cold and open,
A season of change,
the days pulls in,
and colder still,
the blankets warm my white toes,
the morning post-shower shudders.
But beautiful misty mornings,
slow suns rise over each cold night,
brighten the future, warm the hope,
and yet the mist is lingering,
hazy sunlight, morning or afternoon?
time becomes untraceable, unreadable.
These days we spend, we live at night,
work waiting on friends, drink when bars shut,
and sleep, but never enough.
Caffeine and cigarettes, still not enough.
Cold air slips through single pane windows,
the air catches in my lungs:
it tastes of you; it smells of you.
morning coffee stays on my breath all day,
last night's second-hand smoke still stains my sweater.
But to disappear into stories,
fold away my worries,
pack up all thoughts,
and become that character, that voice, that ideal.
I've forgotten who Laura is, or who she should be -
it's easier to focus on Lily.