The fingertips are pale flowers, I watch them bloom until death. The bright colors quickly fade after reaching the alluring state. Everything seems normal, except for the brokenness. Many raindrops gather on the car window, and I imagine the coldness of tears through the glass, with a touch of indifference at the corner of my mouth that can no longer be explained. I seem to see a strange body and a distant soul, with a weird harmony as usual.
Suddenly, I yearn for a love gone wild, where we pour out everything in reckless devotion - our bodies, souls, beliefs... all of it, and then part ways. A resolute hustle just to lose everything, to end up with nothing. I think, this might count as a kind of alternative possession. Pain, pallor, void. They could also be considered a kind of gain.