I get fragments.

Mostly unfinished habits--a tree falling-- a speedometer a constant 20 mph faster than law-- vague fluorescence or partial shadow-- a mast-- hunger-- Edith Piaf echo-- vide, vide, vide-- the untouched box of cigarettes-- blue sheets-- a mouth faster than a mind.

I've seen pretty people disappear like smoke.

A blinding resplendence, so much skin, above the surface and then diving down. I can't get enough of the feeling: water against my ear drums. Precious seconds in which I am stifled and entirely unreal.
With a sense of loss will often come a sense of liberation as well. I lost my bucket of rain and with it the tears.

Lull.

Days have been bright with the same intensity as the sun reflecting off of the glass high rises. And everything is perfectly safe and safely familiar and familiarly quiet.
The smile and sigh, irrational angst, the purity of spirit and all the pleading. All as genuine as the next.
You are still the inky shadow under my eye when I'm awake and so are you.