Horns don't make sense anymore. I am the stuck. The only ghosts that speak to me are made of glow and blank letter faces. It's become the anniversary of my hobbling, the day I forgot how to walk. Introductions have become formalities, it's all going to end one sided. And every time I turn to say something to someone it ends in a complete circle. You said those things to me once. And the laughter carried to the stars. Now it's lost. All just lost.