during the storm i called you, which was absurd because i called from the roof without a personal device not knowing your number anyway or even who you are now.
did you receive me, a little bit? anything? i'm so local i rely on non-locality knowing outside of fiction and physics it's a perhaps pipe dream. still if you are mortally shy you might as well dream.
 

 i'm weathered now. substantial as clouds now. but i still feel that awkward young boy springing for love and attention, inside the wizened body. 
 

one of the saddest things is regretting who we are.