It has been a year since I met you. we had our goods and bads and mediums, the music the same, me the same and a little different. I am trying to think; how have I changed. My hair is longer, my armpits smell. I wash my pants twice before wearing, especially the new ones and I think of you. You know, the shape is familiar, up, up, up, up, down, down, up, down, down, down. I know now. I recognise it. I despair and I smoke. What am I left with. A title, a piece of hair, a fairy girl. Holding hands in your parents' sofa, sharing a bed, and a ship, and a flat. This is what I live for; the first time, the excitement, the wanting to see you again and again and to know you better and better, to enter you, to never exit. Somehow though, alone again, in this small room full of fragments of phrases and forgotten objects, I hear this song, which has never found its place. Still, without hope, I walk towards you to know you again, better and better, to enter, to never exit, until it is over again and new and over.