I've lost that ability of making a poker face in complicated situations. I've got only myself to blame. Yes there is a problem. But it's something I can't explain sitting on a swivel chair in front of you without crumbling horribly out of my facade.
He hits the keys with memorized beats I seem to believe it was irony wrapped around me with fleece. It might sound plain to him but it seared through me like a good song will.
I nearly cried. I didn't, I couldn't, I wouldn't.
I stared at the still images he seemed to be shy with. I wasn't meaning to stare, I was trying to get my tears back into their goddamned ducts. Have I realized that I got my heart together by thin bits of cellophane tapes only to know it will peel off so easily.
The problem is that the trade we're making is somewhat deadly. Do you see?