[where our heads lived and were], i can remember, but i forget how, and when. and when this, and when that... and now, you look at me as you wheeze at the sink. you look at me and you look right through me and i am puffing a cigarette that isn't mine. it wasn't mine and neither were you. i woke alone then, and you slept sitting upright in your shiny white shoes on a stained couch. [where our heads lived and were], i can remember, but i forget how, and when. and now, your glares are sharp as the stubble on your face.