Some things, like tiny liquid molecules of glass will fit together in infinity, until the light reflects the rays correctly. Then all I can see, staring out a window, moving in slow-motion down a one-way street. It's the dead of winter, and I can't hear you. From where I've been sitting, there's nothing to see.
     These eyes fixate on me in a mirror-reflection in a dirty hotel room mirror. I hadn't thought of losing you, not until long after I'd finally lost myself. I never dreamt of such goodbyes, that I had this night I heard you might have lost yourself, and not in any eyes of any strangers as you often drifted into before. It gets later and colder, but your jokes ringing through my head keep my warm, or warmly pondering past existences... all of which seemed could be no more perfect than this. Then a conversation strays into an array of abrupt laughter, and so the winner sings again. At warming my heart, you're the champion.
      I wanna be staring through those slow-drifting molecules just to see your face, or hear your heart monitors beeping to a rhythm of further-knowing that you're eyes will soon open and you can hear my voice, tired from crying, saying that I love you. I love you.