It was a day where the lite horns of an old jazz tune kindly tickled the textures of my ears. I dreamed it was warm, but our hearts lay cold as the snow, which outlines society as easily as a child without a purpose. The graces of our hellos lingering so distraught waiting for a host. Our backs turned and persistent and signifying we could only really give a fuck. Though I stand behind you, as transparent as our lies, your presence prescribes a much need prescription in which I patiently, but pleasing accept. Where are you going? Can I come?