The longer I lay in bed, the crazier I seem to get. Then, I get a crazy idea.

I imagine myself the visconte in early light. I see myself and the tiny package in concrete wet with petals. You, somehow, there, outside. Me, dirty and sad. The both of us gold.

Tipping my toes, I gleefully make the little crazy idea. I sneak on over in the early light. The morning is gray and heavy cool, but that part never really mattered anyway. It just needs to be me and you and the petals strewn.

The floor outside your house is clear, the rain and thunder could not bring those little things down. Damnit! How bad I wanted to be John! How bad I wanted you to call me 'dear.' No mind at all, no mind at all (though it seems a bit pathetic now). Stuck inbetween your wipers a gift and a small bit of verse.

Still those petals seem to be stuck and I'm tempted to give a shake, but I can't make something happen that wouldn't happen anyway. Anyway.