i thought i loved you, it was just how you looked in the light

better off against worse for wear. i like the illusion; i like the magic that wears off once it's beyond six o' clock. the shadows that elegantly frame your face during dawn, your sincere gaze that follows smog-covered city lights and your hushed whispers that yearn for the present to be extended. the warmth that only lasts for mere moments, the gentle stir in your voice when there's the shyest hint of a fluster in your system. this is the de-facto arrangement to end all de-facto arrangements. lace my feelings with uncertainty and come up with a recipe for some omnipotent, cerebral form of stockholm syndrome. both blissfully aware of the fleeting joys brought by ephemeral intimacy, because it's easier to take a shortcut than cross mountains to get to its benefits. even the jury knows what we have has sent me into a flurry. into a hazardous spiral of a blizzard that makes me take one step back every time i take three forward. maybe it's just the years coming into shape, calling you forward. my clocks lag behind the ones in your world, or so i think.