I think,
Standing there beneath the street lamps,
Something flickers in your eyes.
The shadows shift
so to speak,
and you are transformed.
The yellow light is luminescent
but i cannot see you clearly
through the haze
that shrouds you,
and you alone.
I believe you have to let go of
The torturous grimace adorning your obscured face.
The inkwells etched beneath your eyes.
Trembling, shaking, sobbing, wet
et cetera, et cetera
And you come crashing down, and
into my arms
-Anonymous