14.0: Eyelashes

I wonder what's more poetic, the fear of night or the hope of day? What's more poetic, shaking hands curled into shaking fists or bright smiles and crooked teeth? What exactly is our standard of beauty, the moon or the sun?

What are we more drawn to, the dark or the light?

I wonder that as I stare at Joshua's closed garage. Joshua's closed painting space. I wonder that and consider asking Tobias, who's crouched next to me, staring at a yellow daisy Benji is drooling over.

"Beautiful flower," he comments.

"Help me with the door," I respond and he gets to his feet and towers over me. He searches my face and holds his hips.

"You okay?" He asks and I lean on the garage's door as Benji jumps around freely in the front yard.

I look down. "Never been better."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, stoops to catch my eyes. "You wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing to say." I sigh. "I've given up on the sequence of events. Too unpredictable. Too disgusting."