I'm only good at being young

Sun pours through holes in the curtains and he twitches his hand without knowing. The sun spills into the room like slow, yet warm honey, meeting the cracks in your eyes. He said to you, "You know, there's a crack in everything."

But you can't tie the two together. Probably never. Dust dances around the room like a million tiny ballerinas and you are mesmerized. They circle the rays of sun like a brilliant yellow spotlight.

"That's how the light gets in."

It's also how you get out, you think.