I totally forgot what I had wanted in there. I left the 
room with some intention I'm sure, but since I returned 
into the morning kitchen I find myself straining for 
the momentary thought that drove me. So I reach and 
pull some paper off the ground which sunlight 
refracted. I'm distracted by the sound of speakers 
popping every time the current breaks across the 
circuit as the heater in this house switches on. I know 
I should try to focus more on one thing and not let 
these thoughts of you take me away. With a pencil 
poised in my hand I slowly retrace my steps now, trying 
to recall the truant thought that drove me on. I try to 
reach it to impeach it but it's gone. These things are 
nothing when we really know their truth, and yet 
they're painful and disdainful to the sleuth when he is 
searching through the backroads of his brain trying to 
trigger something that's bigger yet so plain. But all 
of that is blocked when I recall your face; it wipes my 
brain like liquid words of dry-erase, smearing recent 
thoughts that I cannot for the life of me replace. I've 
got to write it down and so I reach and pull some paper 
off the ground which light refracted. I'm distracted by 
the sound that comes now through the doorway to me as I 
pore. The music's playing, and a 750-piece puzzle's 
spread out on the floor. I lay my pencil on the counter 
and I think, but the dishes piled, they have defiled 
the kitchen sink and I forget about my goals still one 
more time as I stop to reflect. Oh, I never wear a 
watch, so this mirror shows me to be much older than I 
knew I had grown. No spaghetti strainer or Tupperware 
container could contain my memories that remain lost to 
time. Yeah, all I can recall is what is right here. 
Each morning that dawns is bright blue and clear, but 
there isn't a morning, my dear, that goes and does not 
leave some small piece of you.