the cold hands i used to know are gone. and the tingling 
uncomfort i used to savor was lost a long time ago. all 
the innocence of inexperience and discovery has flattened 
out into stale familiarity. sometimes, when i remember 
the beauty of newness, the face then unmarred by 
bitterness and instability, i sink into the pool of 
blissful sighs and choke myself to death, knowing that, 
sometimes, strangeness can never be recaptured.