sleep left me somewhere before the sun rose to take its place, and now during those hours which no one lays claim to, i find myself awake and thinking. about, whether it’s raining there, or only here. whether flowers will ever bloom into bursting rebellion againt the gloom into which we send our hope, never receiving any echo. if time ever allows for the peaches to be ripe when the watermelon’s chilled. and why, nobody, not even the Sun, can warm me as you do.