Our Thursday, This.

Here's a thought: Had this been a true story, I would not be sitting here today.

Lenghty, thursday night. The masks are off and the choir puts itself in place.
The clock pushed the tempo up, alongside with my temper as I couldn't manage to sweeten the room, your marks were missing and I couldn't tell why.

Slow and heavy as they were, the sour hours were dragging themselves into the room.
They try but they can't make a better world.

I easily breathed along with the choir, clapped the possibilities away.
Curtain call, goodbye.
But to say goodbye is to open another world of possibilities, nevertheless you came seeking the Rainy Voices and their Rage, to my surprise! as my fists loosened and to the wink of an eye that brought back the curtains to the light.

What happened from that moment to where we stand now?
There is more dust here than anywhere.

As your usual easily-driven you, did not say a word.
Still I read the disappointment you were conceiving, in natural ways.

You said: "I wouldn't mistake this."
I knocked on white wood.

The tables were not turned for us, rather switched roles for themselves in a sacred dance we couldn't keep track of.
What does this mean? The magic was softening our brains, up there and down to the shoes.

We may be sitting next to each other but we're separated as we try to find the affective words that pull us by miles from an ambiguous wave.
You opened The Book of Women but it seems this inadvertently stabs our fingers in dispassion.

I thought we had what we needed.
This is a good one:

At your moment you had it all.

Same here.

And the betrayal was feeding from this, we knew because we've been here before.

I began to realize that you were taunting the degrees of separation, working them with your fingers you managed to hide your anger in a proper way, giving her a risky blessing under Bethlehem's range.
She had a pepper smile and bounced back the blessing, this time in Mary's name.

But on the other side she would be arguing in a fever glow.
But that is what you need, and you will have it whole.

I created the moon and from your New Yorky eyes you barked at the night.
Outside of the chamber we walked to a westland.
You conquered both the bones and the brain.

From here until Sunday.