disorder. it's a shame that we don't love and i'm sorry we couldn't love, but maybe it was temperature or atoms, or molecules, or sun rays or dust clouds, or stratosphere and hemisphere, or atmosphere of iron and stone or maybe the way my heart pumps or the way my wounds bleed. maybe you heard thunder and i saw lightning but neither one of us thought there'd be storm. maybe we were moving into darkness or maybe it was the light running away from us but either way, from rust to dust and burn to flame, everything lives to see its end. and bridges burn and stars shoot and time comes and goes and smiles as it passes by and shakes your hand, and one time it paused long enough to tell me that everything lives to see its end. and it's a damn shame that we don't love, and i'm sorry that we couldn't love, but maybe our stream was only water or our oceans just a sea. maybe your time in eden was only my christmas eve. and alphabets are organized, numerals numerized, but me, i am disorder, so it's been said, and us, just like all memories, we are glamourized. and it's a shame that we don't love or won't love, and i'm terribly sorry that we couldn't, but seasons come and time whispers from within my head and where i once felt heat, i feel the cold of dead. it's a damn shame we won't love and i'm really sorry that we couldn't, but with the flood follows the drought and if we were not drowned soon we would have found ourselves burned, and i really wish we could love and i'm terribly sorry we don't, but it seems to me a subtle reminder that everything lives just long enough to see its end. glenda alpha gamma aka speed