You sleep in the clouds, and you can’t come down. You twist and turn and call out the name of the one you love, but the one you love is far from your arms. Is it yesterday, or is it tomorrow? Do you desire to feel the brilliance of a true kiss or is your affection bound to the ebb and flow of the restless whims that have caused you to lose far more than you have gained? When you drift and fall through the floor, do you see yourself as what you are, or are you living in the dream of a girl who hasn’t been around these parts for years? In a New York Minute, you shift between the layers of your mind unable to recall the last time you cried. In the time it takes for you to excavate your teenage dreams from the back of your damaged skull, your image fades, and all that’s left is the mirror and the stars and those dinosaurs as they look up at the sky unaware that their existence will not be known again for tens of millions of years. Those heavenly bodies that float across your eyes, do they make you feel alive, or is it just another reminder that you’re getting older? Those memories that leave you so shaken, do they force your hand and make you break the silence that’s been slowly worming its way into your heart, or are you still clinging on to being a bitch because you believe that’s all you have left to give?