[Saccharine dreams of folded eyelash papers and wispy birds in flight. Icicle brainwaves on windblown nights. Curbstomping emotion down to the core; I ask but it's not best to know. Illumination is being covered from forehead to ankle in thin sheets of form-fitting gold. Not everything is easily condensed into stories. A symbol can never be what it represents.]

This, this I cannot trace.

[Ancient maps lost at sea.]

I am found in a world of dreams.

[Pillaging for treasure.]

Cities made entirely of glass, shattered in the pace of a heartbeat. Devastation on distant shores. Curling waves strike eternal sadness into finite hearts. We're motherless again, adrift in oceans too vast to comprehend.

And all of infinity rests in your gaze.

This, this I cannot trace.

[Avast, ye!]

My weekend, though it's not over yet, has been soft and content. Snow-covered cement and star-flooded skies. Watching movies with friends. Work. Shortbread cookies and internet problems. Downtown slush around our ankles. Breathing in the second-hand smoke of an entire city. Purchased the Zombie Survival Guide and made plans for a Thursday zombie video-watching evening, where I will conquer my fear of the undead.

Just so you know, I reserve the right to continue whining about Latin for another semester, starting.. right.. now!