A dense haze has been settling here for years gently covering my heart, my guts, my mind, my eyes like gauze used in Asian body wrapping ceremonies.  I haven’t felt the sun on my translucent skin since as far as I can remember.  I don’t remember what it’s like to be warm.  And when you ask me what I see when I look at you…  I see a dense, white haze with an outline engraved. There is nothing majestic of my mechanical insides, churning away rhythmically without a higher notion.  The butterflies were euthanized long ago.  I don’t recall the excitement we once shared.  The unintentional moments covered me slowly unbeknownst to me. You ask me, “What will it take?”  To bring me back, you mean? I’ve already lost my way through the haze that fell softly on yesterday.  I’m too far gone.  Even my mechanisms wish to be left at ease, away from the excess stress of a love gone astray. I’ve grown accustomed to the shade.