Imbalance creates static. The imbalance will remain until it is able to move away. I see you as an island. You see me as a bookshelf full of words you will never read. At least we have eternity. At least we have a god that wants us to read everthing ever. At least our god rewrites our history. Are you free tonight? We should catch up.
Morning allows me a moment to breathe. Morning steps away and offers me solitary existence. Morning sinks quietly into afternoon. Your sun hangs high above my head. I can't catch up with you. I will walk across a plain of plain sand only to sink into your sunset. It's not mine. It's not my storyline. Your fabrications make up the quilt of my timeline. You repeat what I never had the chance to produce. You are my trough. I drink from you.
Two surfaces will contact and separate. There is resistance. There is an effect. You neutralize my extremes. You are familiar. You are a home. There is a path that leads to you that will become overgrown. I've grown up and need to withdraw. I've grown up and have drowned what is no longer around. I've grown up and am searching for a trail back to the unpaved way that is your shoulders, your torso, your skin. You remind me of what I've lost. You remind me of what I have yet to find.
Give me your morning. Give me your time spent under the rising sun. You rise, you are my prize. You deplete when you complete. Give me your morrow. Give it today.