it's been long.

a pair of matching socks. such a foreign concept. matching socks. every morning with blurred vision, nausea and the

spinning world a skeleton palm reaches into the closet hoping to find two clean socks. i thought i will never find a pair of

matching socks. i thought chance never wanted me to find a pair of matching socks. the deep pink and grey stripes on both

feet. such a strange sight. a homolateral sight. something that should never exist in my world. something that has never

existed in my world. laying down sideways, blood draining away from heart- something was going to happen. something magical,

something miraculous, something mortally terrifying, something wrong. it reminds me of pilates. it reminds me of roxanne.

two stramlined fish swimming in a pond. one with pink and grey stripes, the other identical. how dare they be the same.

suddenly a bullet darted in between my eye brows and spins my world apart. powerful, passionate tango playing in my head- not

the kind of music that ripples the tiniest ripple of attraction in the pond. they found each other. relentless, remorseless,

reckless caressing. the sound of exhaust fan storms the eye of the living room- the eye of the storm is the stage for the

performers of chance. of fate. of... there is always one in the air. one could learn to keep two in the air. the more

talented and persistent manage three, four, five, maybe six. six. six. two matching socks and six in the air, one end a

gorgeously erotic tango the other end a dynamic polka. such an image does not ring any bells. bells of doors, bells of

goats, bells of masters, bells of churches. each time a bell rings a tear is shed and dropped and wiped and forgotten. to

forget. forget, forgot, forgotten. to forget is a hope, to forgot is a wish, to have forgotten is a tragedy. to be

forgetting... to be forgetting is everything that has pink and grey stripes. the zebras prance, the zebras dance. a strange

harmony of the living and the dead. sweet, fresh pink and stale, frozen grey flesh. the harmony between a C and an F sharp.

what harmony. such a foreign concept.