ANTE (SIDE-A), POST (SIDE-B)

Pretty is always you, a speck of obscure blurs in my sight. A shapeless being without details of any sort for me to unlabel you 'stranger'. But I can tell your kind of prettiness is an ageless one. They say the eyes are where we never age, so if you fall for their eyes, it will never fades. I don't know about that, but, your eyes, they're pieces of ancient art and I lost track of time as I time travel back and forth into the future and stepping, for the first time, into your past,

piecing everything together into a canvas. Namely mattered times and abandoned stories without an end, a part of something, remnants of a whole. Who would have know that being half is about chasing time and into quicksand? Yes. Being half is about searching the unsearchable and wasting the already wasted. It's probably not about your eyes anymore after I talk of the past because I wrote this in time lapse. That by that gap, some feelings could have changed into else.