These sun rays are leaving later and later these days, so I count the bars dividing through the leaves. Sometimes my head feels so clear, and I pretend you are sitting across from me, sun in my face, dark brown amber irises blinded yet refusing to blink. I playfully laugh at your syntax, but I would never truly laugh at you, never. I just don’t like overtly pretty things, even if everything you tell me is pretty. Your words gut my heart out at times, and I still let them. I’m your biggest fan, I would read your lit like a bestseller, I would leave your shelves bare.