"He'll build a little home Just meant for two From which I'd never roam Who would, would you?"

All plans are in flux.

All I see seems to have the same tint.

Morning for me is the middle of last night for him.

He has all the light on his side.

Some mornings are even without junk mail-going onto facebook looking for a voice, even one imagined as one reads out the text-

a sad state of affairs, and by sad I mean tragic.

I found an extra day, which means little when in flux, still 48 hours should force a decision, none of which are anything more than a type of bittersweet, mixed emotions, and mixed intentions.