Repeated attempts to return to a mind that is not what it once was...
I’ve got distribution.
I’ve got people in a rut,
They know I love them,
But they don’t know how much. The Heligoats
I’m weary with right angles, abbreviated daylight,
Waiting for a winter to be done.
Oh why do I still see you in every mirrored window,
In all that I could never overcome?
How I don’t know what I should do
With my hands when I talk to you,
How you don’t know where to look
So you look at my hands.