then it picked up, it picked up like the coming of an ocean born storm. Not a movement in the air; a few dark clouds separate. Aeros licks your face, sending a chill down your spine right to your sacrum, right down into the earth: grounded. Crystalized. Everything becomes clear yet remains fractal. You sat down next to me. Your thick accent warming me up on this cold afternoon. But your not present, your a another world away, its probably the middle of the night. Maybe your enjoying a midnight snack.. maybe your thinking of me too. And maybe the moon that is rising over the horizon is above your head, outside your window over the mediterranean sea, over the Napoleon mountain ridges that you would reminisce about here. I miss you. These words are so ugly and simple. This coming storm will hopefully clean my soul, will fix my life, will pass you as we