The yellowed page of the books and books I'd forgotten that I had. These paperbacks they know their age they smell of weight and time that's resting warm. The opened box beside the endless box parade that haunts my house. Is fit to split with photographs that tell the wanderlust of years smashed on to years. When all this actual life played out. Where the hell on Earth was I?. I rack my brains but it won't come. Through water damaged bloodshot eyes. The fleeting triumphs brazen lies. All seem to mingle into one. I read your name under words in your elegant hand you probably don't mean now. I fold the letter and think of a million and one things that I could have done different. When all this actual life played out. Where the hell on Earth was I?. I rack my brains but it won't come. Through water damaged bloodshot eyes. The fleeting triumphs brazen lies. All seem to mingle into one. One gigantic fairy tale. Of friends I haven't seen in years. Drinking 'til the daylight hurts. You seem friendly who are you?. That's a lot of wine that we got through. We've made playtime look like work.. Please just take these photos from my hands