My Name is Kay.
Someone killed a kitten in the sky and scattered it's fur across the sky to disrupt the twisted light and bring more unseen colors into it.
It is nice to see your face.
I'm happy to see you.
I am not very good at small talk. Nothing is very small to me, that's why I suppose. How you're doing is something I'm really concerned about. Good or Bad. I want to hear you. If your voice doesn't work that's ohkay. I still want to hear you.
I want you to hear me too. I tend to stammer and not make much sense. My conversation follows the path of a fly zipping through the rain. But it isn't pointless. When I start talking about how the trees seem to be swaying to far to the right for today, and then ask if you noticed that she was really hurt yesterday and wanted you to listen, it makes sense. I'm asking you if you want to make her day better. You don't hear that though. You don't hear me too much.
But I still listen to you. I really try to. Details slip past a diligent and torn net. From one caught shred of information a piece of furniture lights up in the dark room so there is one place I'm not supposed to step. Bright, small thread of wire mesh falls from my forehead. It stays on the ground. A bright forgotten trail is made. Its following me, following you.
Today has been a great day. I had lots of fun. The deep end has been neglected again.
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