Eyes faded into cold cement. I look away; I will pause before I look. He glances ahead.

"What are they saying to each other?" He motions ahead: arms wave furiously. His hand is steady on the wheel. My legs are tired. I lean back in my seat. I rummage through his car. The highway's lights flicker. I find something. I hold it in my hands, examining every glimmer. He tells me every word from his mouth is better than theirs. I close my window.

We are there. I shiver: it surrounds me. A dog twice my size barks at me. I climb through the doorway. Nick was punched in the face. I pile blankets on top of him. They fall into conversation, shut out surroundings: my pencil scribbles paper and my hand falls beside me, tired. They go outside. I play with the dogs: they say nothing to me and look straight forward. I zip my sweater and follow them outside. They are not listening as I get there. The dog is back again. He walks behind me. I stare at the rooftop. The ceiling stretches high: smokestacks throw themselves upwards, towering over every eluded brick. I stare at the floor. Crushed metal falls below my feet. I drop my things on the floor and don't notice. They are still talking to each other, each word grasping at the other. Rest has always evaded me: my eyes are tired and my clothes will not warm me. Tomorrow I will be free and my admonitions will be gentler. Crimson sky bellows; my attention has been lost on you. He is back to attention: he is asking me a question. I nod and look away. He seems angry. I wrap my arms around my chest. Fingers on drawn strings, you have been exhausted: my skills are tired now. He tells me we're leaving, calm now. Daylight has faded. We get into his car. I cast windows upwards, daylight has faded. Music encircles. Daylight has faded: I had forgotten. The dog has fallen miles behind us. Words are falling from his mouth, disorganized and raw. He stops in a parking lot and speaks to his phone. She has told me this story, she told me before, I remember! I told you I remembered. Daylight, why have you faded? Parking lot lights are my eyes. Pencils scribble on paper. The smoke of our fathers rises to the sky to dissipate. Piercing glances have left. He has forgotten their speech. I am right behind you! He rolls down his window: "Where have you been?" I've been here the whole time.

Highways are behind us now: the devastating hum has surrendered to sweet rest. I grasp at the latch of the door. I fall onto the parking lot and shudder. He pulls me upward and leads me to the stairway. I fall onto his floors. He darts through the room, hesitating at each corner. My head falls onto softer pillows. Warmth, I surrender to you. Brilliance, I have looked for you every day, and daylight, daylight, why have you faded again? The lanterns buzz. I close my eyes.