The sun cuts open in the sky, spilling quickly and rapidly like a landfall. I cannot remember when I became rooted into the walls and, if I had the tears, I would cry out, but I’ve almost forgotten the calm that comes with breathing steadily. I wish for sentiments within borders; a sort of emotional discipline that won’t send me off-track again. I don’t want a barricade of unserviceable hands and one-eared conversations. The routines are everlasting and even the smell of coffee in the morning has muted into ordinary. Outside, the whole landscape remains unaltered and the earth continues to turn on its axis. My blank brown eyes will take it all in (repeatedly), even if they are unsatisfied and starved out.