One Look At Each Other And It

There Are No Days More Full Than Those We Go Back To.

The Point Of Flight. To Get Rid Of Oneself. That Was Reason Enough To Fly.

Yet She Likes Complications. She Wishes She Could Turn And Say: I Like People Who Unbalance Me.

And I Suddenly Think, As I Look Across The Table At Him, That These Are The Days As They Will Be. This Is The Future As We See It. The Swerve And The Static. The Confidence And The Doubt.

How Inevitable It Is; We Step Into An Ordinary Moment And Never Come Out Again.