you'll never understand what makes me tick. you'll try an beg and ask questions that you think are terribly clever.

you will invest so much in knowing me, in discovering what makes my eyes change color.

go from green to blue to gray. But you'll never really know.

because i'm fog - rolling, enveloping, disappearing when the sun rises in the morning.

vanishing.

because i'm not really here, i'm neither real nor unreal. i am surreal.

there is nothing you can grasp about me.

don't break yourself over me, i am nothing more than a muddy puddle after a heavy rain.

i am nothing but the earthy sodden scent of rolling fields in a thunderstorm.

i am nothing but the weightless crystal snowflakes which are eerily bright in the moonlight, when the world sleeps.

i am a handful of sweet fresh grass, wild and razor-sharp.

i am nothing you can ever own. do not try to possess me, you will watch your dusty reflection in a vanishing rear view mirror.