It is as though I’ve been walking backwards lately, with eyes closed and my head looking up at Sagittarius. With any sense of melodrama aside, it really does feel sometimes as though he is about to shoot me through into some other dimension removed from all these people. But it is unfair to hold up hope from entities to far to remember faces. Yesterday, the crackle of clove at midnight, along the lake, and no real clarity disclosed from the daze. A trace of what I knew a few weeks ago washed away this morning but there is always this god damn trace of perfume that’s not your own lingering somewhere between the lines. It is a consequence of the unknown details that you can never dig out with your own hands, I suppose. There are just awkward gestures and stumbling words to get you through to some sense of knowing that time cannot always turn a blind eye.