We are like an interlude to a song, not too long or too short – just enough, but not a song. We are like electricity, necessary for lighting up the fire within but therein are too many wires we couldn’t fix, even if we wanted. We boast to both be technicians but we are haunted, there isn’t anything we can mend, and all that is left is our dreams in technicolour. We have not one distinct colour but resemble a rainbow, beautiful and eclectic yet eccentric. Like the break of dawn, we are a mix between dark and light – never really one – lovelorn; together but lone, we are love clowns. But this isn’t comedy because how you make me feel is remedy to everything. Despite our nuance and our nuisance, nothing matters. We don’t care that we are wasting time. We don’t care that we are like a ship sailing way off course. We don’t care that we’ve spun over and over again. We don’t care that we lost it; we only care that we love it, and the spur it gives.