Shadows, that seems to be all that remains. Not even that for shadow has an image for us to see, for us to recognize. It's sad to say that my mind is shrouded by such, but it must be said. The mucus, the teary eyes, the soar throat, and on and on and on. Popped pills to relieve the pain. Didn't work. Took more. Still nothing.
Suddenly, nothing was all I saw. Oops, too many!

Shadows, cower in the corner, clustered and convulsing. Colliding with the conundrum concealed in...Fuck, no more "C's" to use.

Sick and tired of torturing the turmoil of the total spirit we call life. Tremendous and translucent, we seem too intent on tearing time from the hands of children, and giving it to totalitarian dictators. Turn towards the distant tremblings of the sky and tuck the torn paper under your T-shirt...Shit, I'm out of "T's".

In case you're wondering, I don't want to work on my research. Wasting time is what I do best:)

Eyes, Eyes. What to say about eyes. They shine maybe, or maybe they don't shine but twinkle like diamonds as they are brought to the surface for the first time. A diamond doesn't know what color it wants to be, so it's all the colors. You hold it delicately in your hands and gaze into it, loss yourself and your soul to it. Imprisoned forever, willfully.
Maybe it's the moist lips, shining, glistening in the light of day. Like rain with no clouds in the sky. Refreshing and warm. Cool to the cheek, but warm on the lips. They press and you press. The curves, the depressions, the twist, the motion; You see it all in a millisecond, never wanting to betray or dissolve what you see. Memorizing every little thing about them.
Maybe there is no sensation but the one we feel. No physicality involved, just pure emotion. It's the sweet pain in your chest as you intuit the image. An image of subjective pureness. An image of your making, but inspired by reality.
What if it's only the hair that sways in the warm breeze of a spring day? Nothing. Nothing changes. Clouded in the mind alone, but in the hours of the day, nothing is cloudy, only golden sun, illuminated for all to see. And in that freedom of time, you stop! It's there where perfection lies. Don't let them tell you otherwise. Perfection is your reality, subjective as it may be. Bundle it all up and leave room for more because that's what makes it perfect.