There's such a great momentum, the kind that might not reappear. My only fear is that this back and forth will become habitual. I've killed what I can't salvage. The dreams are litter on the streets I walk now in remembrance. Nostalgia is a midnight beacon. Dichotomy is not the framework of this world, but a movie screen. Try to see that what we are is only conversation. There and here forth and back, now and then I trace the tracks. Idle are my plans, but they absorb and weigh in tons