I miss you. Waiting for SMS alert, eager to turn and revert back before the apples strain, bled juice so sour. Friendship is fleeting, not a fruit where tasting taboos are permanent and texture is parchment. Separate from reality is deep pools of self-pity. drowning is but an option, so snap out of this notion. The joy of companionship is not an illusion but we need respite and now it is the time to eschew parlour tricks and ban smoke & mirrors from our show. Shall I make the first move? Scant chance you'll disapprove seeking for serenity's sake, intoxicating, a whiff of grace. And grace I need of you and grace I want of you. Amazing, amazing, utterly amazing. Pools and Eden's Apples. Do you miss me too?