(Stream of consciousness prose) These are not peaceful times upon which I can count out the inequalities in my life nor are these joyful times as my manner leaps and falls at the same time over the same events and darkness falls on my shadow in these, not peaceful times where I remain, in camera, a rock upon which leaves cover traces of grains of gneiss, striations of dark and light as these days are now, because I feel I'm losing you, or am I just losing your love as I've become more silent now, speaking less of mutual things and trapping your emotions as a scull traps water in a race against time, mine, yours and ours because time races against no one person or thing inside this room where there is no cold, no rain, no fear, no pain; there is no light either and you are outside of this l