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I spent hours dressing for glory - and I have no idea why. It is a reconsideration - the ache. I think about him (let me restore myself) and how he reminds me of my uncle and how they would get along if they were closer. My father's fear is real. He wishes me to be careful by the window. It's right; he's right especially when he is sad and sings and tells me about his old material. I see DEAFBLIND GIRLS with Victorian-wear living in homes on hills and my temples - they do not stop throbbing. Restoration. What shows is not what I expect, although I read people pretty well, I can't tell what he is thinking because he is so hard on himself. No one knows, no one shows, what we care for we don't share. Because. Because. Because. How I wish, how I wish I didn't wish for something I cannot have. I eye in the same way, although I would like to not know this, I eye in the same way.