Change is pulsing through purple and pink skies, flying and fawning over clouds that change too, telling stories as the stars come home, to let the sun rest. The sky is my home, but I visit so many places, in pursuit of you, that sometimes I am lost. My eyes close and I visit somewhere…

I have my hands on a gun, loaded and lukewarm, I see a bullet up ahead, one lodged in my head, when I gaze into the glass of my bathroom mirror, which looks so much like the one we had in our house. It was my house, but you made yourself at home, soft, sentimental…