I found comfort in the oncoming white noise. In the backdrop where I laid on top of distance, and its many, many faces. Without a whimper the anguish lingered into the corners of my languid neck. I digested the arrangements of chatter, into the paths where I dissected the lungs of hope, and its misleading names. The precious seconds insisted on trickling further down the dim lit hallways. There is a dent on the bright white door. An encompassing whirlwind ignored, and when you glided through the violent clamor I felt the wilting fingertips once again. Lower your head for the smiling graves, they wait for you and I.

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