Disgusted, he sleeved his theories,
the riveting narratives, his dreams
unkempt, sullen. An ordered
disorder. We had the courage
to write about happiness. An
idea, a phrase, you don't know
why it means so much to you.
They need plot, but he didn't.
Separated from garden-variety
revelation (by semantics), the
elliptical nature of the discussion
was unsettling. She seemed right
in her moodiness though. Keep
going until the treeline of nuance.