Something reached my head: an image less clear. The only thing I know is that you're not quite here. I'm staring at my eyes on the mirror, then move to another corner, head filled with colours.

It's hard to concentrate, it's hard to reach out for the outer world that I don't even know about. I know it's there, right behind the door, but I don't want to go there now: it means leaving home.

I just want to stay, I want to stay, I want to stay, but I don't want to stay the same.

...

It feels different, now that you are here with me, because you always seem to make me see all the different shapes, all the different colours, all the things in life that are worth the sorrow. And I do know: sorrow can be cruel, but I think there's some beauty and it's related to you.

I want you to stay, I want you to stay, I want you to stay, and I want you to stay the same.

There is no such thing as "the morning after" when you just sleep too long and wake up in laughter.

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