Neon city from the 16th floor.

Haruki Murakami-esque.

Dim sum restaurant, a dark morning.

You made me burn, the chef on the background plays with flame and give effects on my narrative:

Stars a match.

Underpants patterns.

Listen.

Obey.

Jealousy.

Miss you.

Don’t know you.

Let you be.

Songs.

Poetry.

Absolution.

Dissillusion.

Unimaginable dreams.

Magical years in nanoseconds.

Irrelevant time.

Imperfection.

Scrubs on your skin.

Odorless Sweat.

Morning breath, smells like dew.

Fetish to your body.

If I were to find you

among a thousand lives,

I’d let you know

that I wasn’t there.

Hop hop.

Be on your way now.