Just a taste. Just a glimpse of what has never been, not in this life, at least. There are footprints that lead from my room to yours. There are patterns that emerge in the clouds that tell me of your movements and just what you desire at any given time. There is a line that binds us. A state of being that stretches from your fingers to mine. With each cup of coffee, we smoke our cigarettes and thumb through the pages of books with cracked spines and rubbed out titles. With every word that passes back and forth between our mouths, we know and we understand, and this erases the need for the dreadful nothings others have to offer. Those others that would have us believe that what we do is of no consequence. Those empties that spit and rant in the blind belief that their ways are the only ways. Yeah, how it makes us laugh as we feed each other slices of cherry pie. We should use forks, but why use anything but our fingers? We should grow up, but what’s the point when growing up means the inevitable death of not only our bodies but our minds as well? Destinations. Journeys. Never outwards but inwards. Moments and bubbles and lips that kiss and teeth that glow in the dark like those jigsaw dinosaur skeletons we used to collect as kids. Or how about those coins we would slap and slam on the playground or the Micro Machines we would flick and collide to impress the loves of our then innocent lives. In a shopping mall in the lonely hours, we walk hand in hand sharing stories. Sat on a bench overlooking a sea of towns and villages, we discuss our failures and we rejoice in our pain because this is what makes us real. This is what brings us together, just like the winter, and just like the snow. So go on and feed me some more of that cherry pie. Scoop it up and place it upon my tongue. I don’t even like the stuff, but for you, I will try.