The mornings bring with them a crispness like that of fresh ice-cream. There is a chilly purity in the transparency of the dark mornings–a darkness that will melt with the light and bringing a subtle softness that like ice cream, becomes the best time to experience. –Bite my lip in consternation–because like ice cream, that perfect consistency soon melts into shapelessness. The morning that brought that wonderful texture also brings with it the possibility of spoilt ice-cream. The flavor becomes overly sweet, sticky liquid on my fingers like my emotions gumming up the ability to move freely and with vitality. The day comes. All I want is night. All I want is sleep. All I want is another morning. I want it so much that if it were possible to go to bed at 12:30pm and sleep to the next morning darkness (around three-thirty am) I’d be on the pillow by 12:20.