The sun is warm. Middle of the night blackness. Restless. Something had certainly landed me in this peculiar setting. Can’t pinpoint it. No moving forward until you are where you stand. You can only become better by reminding yourself of what you already are. Circumstantial debates, the hobby. Raw. Feelings tucked themselves neatly under the pillows of my heavy beating chest. At least it felt singular now. Too much time spent looking in the rear-view mirror. Absentmindedly, mistakenly, I had painted a painfully familiar sillouhete. Growth is leering. Stepping forward takes precedent of imagined movement. My hands they are empty, full. Such a young, beating heart, buried beneath a mild summer. A young blonde stood admiring her fingernails and pondering her past. If it weren’t for her blue eyes, I could see more clearly. Not today, I thought. Not today. Everyone sensed the sadness. At least, I felt. So. Two dollars and thirty cents. One way.