We're building towers to be filled with more bodies than lives. Principled stories with lessons we never quite applied. The snowflakes are hanging static, still in the sky, as if they were grieving, someone or something lost in time. I'm grateful for all the things I made you dread, I'm grateful for all the things you had left. Somewhere outside there was a storm, but I don't open up my blinds here anymore. “Lacking in fundamental humanities.” That's what you wrote about me, and whether or not you meant it, it was true. Either opiates or constant distractions, illness or time spent on mirrored reactions, I was never as fair as I should have been to you. Well, I guess we'll just be mirrors, leaving fractals in our wake, completing different pictures, filling in a distant space. Distant voices fill a different space, different voices fill a distant space.