That the way light bounces off your skin has nothing to do with who you are.
That smokers believe they need to die a little, just to go outside.
That art has always hated the frame you put it in and would lash out, kicking and screaming in the streets, if you gave it half a chance.
That the way lovers touch can not be communicated in words, no matter how often or how hard you try.
That your body fights your mind and your mind fights your soul and your soul fights the world, to try and figure out what you are.
That sometimes, you're just tired.
That's all.
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