Sometimes I think of myself as a dusty mirror. A sooty reflector begging for the fingers of determination to draw circles and shapes upon the slighty unshorn curves of my exterior. Hoping one frigid point of day the breath of an opportunist will send heated fog straight through me in order of tracing my heart. Waiting to be looked IN with enduring eyes even though I'm not being looked AT. I want to be displayed as a token compared to an expediency. Marveled in lieu of pined. When pondering on the copies we cast in a reflection, we are indeed getting back what we're giving. In fact I am perpetually returning everything I am requirring. As a time capsule fails to be built, I wait. Such commodities do not occur in every duration of existence. I'll complete my trails one step a time in full acknowledgement of the next sequence of foot steps. As this moment's time elapses I just want to accept my signifigance.
Buenos Noches my lil Chicken stalkers,
Till I feed you again.
