I’m walking through the rows searching for Fairfield with my tiara. Haelegen enters with a dripping feather and my eyes stick to the screen. The glow is coming from a little girl, stuck to her talons. Through the Barnes and Noble a book is called the Crack in the Cosmic Egg. Suddenly a moment emerges. I have no sense of Haelegen’s personality, because she has none. She is a pair of females who wish they could separate. I am a pair of females flailing in the firmament. No one is looking at me while I loop my snake around a white roach. Yellow eyes yawn while my sterling teeth fry on the sand. Dead black sand wanders across my red muscles while Haelegen searches for the SHEIM. Her talons are crying, and she has three wings. I have three wings, because my fourth wing is a secret sibling who lives in the closet and types out my notes for me while I snot on the porcelain. Gems wash through my rivers while I forget the names of my friends and show my secret part to the Haptic Void. My recovery meeting went well, so I feel I am prepared for the SHEIM. I feel sorry for my friend, because he was mean to me but I can shit compassion into his pants. My mirror neurons are Kel Valhaal, and I make a feast out of the Armistice of Varizen. I do everything too early, and as a result I am hated, because cultural horizons spend time with porridge. Under the sapphire I’m alone with my phone. My connection to you means the world to me, but this fact alone has nothing to do with you, because I don’t know you and I don’t like you. I shove my rapier through the Vama Marg while you untangle my blindfold.