i cannot believe this. my entire entry has been whisked to the depths of infinite disappearance. how can i forgive you, you unstable, unpredictable, balky blogging tool?

if you had read my written post, the sadness succumbs to truer depths.

i'm too tired to argue. what is left is mystery; beauty, ephemerality. art will pass and be forgotten, but my thoughts, my layers, my love, and my tears are evermore.

you will have regret not knowing what those words contained. i shall regret not having the voice to express those exact words a second time. you, and your balancing plastic straws, your blueberries, your tea-stained fingertips. i am situated at the antipodes, encased in gold, draped with silk, and showered with needles, yet i still long for what i lack. the horizon floods with your scent, yet i am but a tangerine. i find the climate unsuitable.

the last line read as thus:

"i wish to touch your eyebrows, for they remind me of caterpillars. please indulge me by closing your eyes..."