no, it was a wince.

Love is a very tinted window.

yet, thankfully, windows can open.

but not when you can't find the lock to unlock it. when you're in the dark, and it's night outside, but the night is beautiful; at least to you.

UNCERTAINTY.
you're eyes are wide open in the pitch black dark.
it doesn't matter how much you stare, you see nothing.
you see no glare;
not even a spark.

and the voices are telling you to open the window. and you can barely feel the tips of your fingers, trembling as they run along the windowsill, everything feeling the same, only segregated by their rough shape; all those things you have propped up on that windowsill...

they've collected dust. you can't find the lock because the surface of your mind, the area that reacts to sight, doesn't want to find it. you don't want to find it, when you know you should. but the dark feels good, for the most part. it makes everything around you in the room seem missing. unreal. everything is calm, but the window is shaking. just open it. just open it. please, just fucking open it.

too late.
it opened itself. the wind blew it down.
and now you're too cold.
and the moon is too bold.

but you don't blame yourself.
"this happens to all of us."
who do you think you're fooling?
buy back the heart you sold.

and find a new consumer
that will eat your heart out.
love it, make it last,
and maybe the seed will sprout

a new vine.

I Love You.