This morning's sunrise lunged its lithe beatitude through angles of transparent window panes. I spun a dream of history before it browned and it reverberated tremours of bittersweet joy down my throat. I get nauseous at myself sometimes and if it helps to know, you are the one to help cure this awful bout of sickness and save me from these wretched spells.

If only the second of January was everyday. I never meant to live to explain my agonies to you because my happiness breeds on yours. I'm sorry for being a prick to your sensitivity majority of the time and I'm sorry if I haven't aptly manifested my utmost love towards you.