I totally forgot what I had wanted in there. I left the room with some intention I'm sure, but since I returned into the morning kitchen I find myself straining for the momentary thought that drove me. So I reach and pull some paper off the ground which sunlight refracted. I'm distracted by the sound of speakers popping every time the current breaks across the circuit as the heater in this house switches on.
I know I should try to focus more on one thing and not let these thoughts of you take me away. With a pencil poised in my hand I slowly retrace my steps now, trying to recall the truant thought that drove me on. I try to reach it to impeach it but it's gone. These things are nothing when we really know their truth, and yet they're painful and disdainful to the sleuth when he is searching through the backroads of his brain trying to trigger something that's bigger yet so plain.
But all of that is blocked when I recall your face; it wipes my brain like liquid words of dry-erase, smearing recent thoughts that I cannot for the life of me replace.
I've got to write it down and so I reach and pull some paper off the ground which light refracted. I'm distracted by the sound that comes now through the doorway to me as I pore. The music's playing, and a 750-piece puzzle's spread out on the floor. I lay my pencil on the counter and I think, but the dishes piled, they have defiled the kitchen sink and I forget about my goals still one more time as I stop to reflect.
Oh, I never wear a watch, so this mirror shows me to be much older than I knew I had grown. No spaghetti strainer or Tupperware container could contain my memories that remain lost to time.
Yeah, all I can recall is what is right here. Each morning that dawns is bright blue and clear, but there isn't a morning, my dear, that goes and does not leave some small piece of you.