We relieve ourselves from the emotions we hold, diving into calm pools. We seek the raindrops, floating in mists in the eye. We read the newspapers, famous names extolled in articles, or examined with fine needles. Holding ourselves to the highest of standards, we cut ribbons from the blinkers, the echo pedals, when we get our hopes up and see through mirrors, we feel alone in cinematic instances of solitude. We put things into perspective, but we never truly see clear. So we polish the corners, making the day worthwhile. We pull the hours until they elongate, but we never have enough time to say what we feel. We are always on the go, pouring our money into dreams. We spare the angels, wrapped in soft fabrics, in clouds. Jim speaks to me. He talks about the colour blue, how he longs for freedom, the touch of life. We walk long roads, quietly observing. We fall into the sound of traffic, waning moons of time. We switch on lamps, we light candles for lost loved ones, but the pain always propagates, it never abates, it never leaves, but only subsides long enough for us to forget the poison arrow in the heart, the lonely rabbit in the garden.