Appearently I wrote poetry once. I don’t remember writing it, but upon further inspection and the to: address, I’m going to assume it was a momentary lapse of non-cynical judgement and that after years of bitter distress, I’m much better now.

I was cleaning out old emails, (in an address that should never be opened again,) and realized that life? Flows beautifully into itself. Harsh words, sappy emails from four years ago, are all reminiscent of recent or earlier moments. Situations seem to stay the same, reactions change.

A smile collides with the night sky- he has brilliant stars in his eyes. Two
lips rise to the occasion once more, our silent goodnight.  A crown-well
placed, resides on silken wisps. Eyes half closed- dreaming of the future,
half open to see the dance of blue with lashes for miles. Pleasant glare
from the light above bids him goodnight, on turned heel the keys find their
home in the metal lock. The keys to the lock, as his stare fixes mine; the
cold shudder is felt as the door signals the close behind.