Fifth tomorrow. You finally have a day off. It's going to be such a wonderful time. Just a moment or two of memory, and the rest a brutal blur of rar. Sadly entertained. Oh yes. I can't wait. These beers are but a slavering bridge to oblivion's finality, the future I do so crave.
To touch that sallow face, the dying petals of a flower, to wander in fields left fallow in the shadow of fall. Such long, beautiful, cold shadows. I wonder sometimes about if and when, puzzle over a concept called home, though you know...to me...
Is it a lie? Maybe.

Wherefore and when, only I know your name. Mr. Fox I do despair.
Miss it, yes.