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down by the river where the sun stays out and the moon waits by the window a black haired man washes his face. knees bent at the shore he looks into the water and sees what he used to be. "where were you when she walked away?" the man in the water asks him. "where were you then?" and he thinks to himself like he does every day at dawn and tries to find the answer to the question. "i don't have the answer to that. not today." he responds. and a breeze picks up, kicking rocks at his self. the water ripples and the man disappears and the black haired one thinks to himself like he does every day at dawn. another voice from the distance, riding the winds like a paper airplane. "where are you going with that heart of yours so dangerously exposed like that?" he says. the man turns and looks for the source but fails to locate it. and he thinks to himself like he does every day at dawn that maybe he thinks too much.