There comes a time when even good things must come to an end.
Now is not that time, but it's coming soon.
You might think you still have time, but you really don't. I'm writing you now to tell you what's coming, but you can't do anything about it You don't have time.
Time is the problem.
Red blood.
Why bother with other hues?
A blue sky, a green leaf, the yellow grass... do they, would they, could they motivate?
The blush on my face; a flush of red, red blood beneath a blanket of colorless fat.
Raise your eyebrow, tilt your head, shift your weight on your hips. You enredden me.
In my over-saturated state of enredment, I cannot control myself.
The twitch, the stutter, the stumble, the slur.
The color red. The color of life.
I am bered.
I hope I am red-worthy.
I want you.
I express myself with a late-night debit card and a click. And then, I wait for hours.
Why can't this go faster?
Why must I suffer?
I lack want.
I choose, I regret.Give me a recommendation.
Nudge me.
Guide me through the complications, the vexations, the distractions.
I could never sort this out on my own.
I await your whisper: You know what I'd like. You know what I'd buy.
Tell me.
\\\
