Scrap sheets of paper at work.

The reminder of a dress that passes my knees, ankles hidden in a cave of cotton shadow. I meet a pair of eyes that look more like vials of ocean water and am struck with a desire for sand and sunshine. When the clouds turn gray over the Chicago streets, the taxis dance and interchange in rhythm with the lake I love so dearly. The lake that laps and shines and waves and whispers. I listen closely and she tells me everything- the way I confide in you when the moon rests and these gray Chicago clouds disperse.