Over the edge. The barrier close. The distant: any form of love. For such a long day I welcomed the night. The day blossomed a new night. It became a brighter rouge upon my darling's cheeks. Her hair became a straighter darker silken streak. Her eyes became a piercing grey. She now seemed close. Everything was blossoming in a different way. Everything was how it was. A zenith above such a sweet innocence. The very vehemency of insight. I became perturbed about my apartment. "Darling . . . Does our apartment seem different to you," I said. "Not much more than other moments honey," she said I could not believe the tint. The tint was so off color. It was green, red, orange, yellow and black. The light above us was a bright yellow. The light in the living room was slightly tinted bright white over thick glass. All of the sudden . . . 'this.' The sofa was tinted black. The rug a sierra tan. "How in God's name and what the hell happened," he said. "I do not know honey. Perhaps all this shall leave after tonight. Perhaps. Perhaps the decayed petals on the table shall go away as well." The walls were a bright white. The table in the living room was made of glass upon stone. "Oh honey. Dearest love. I know you are bothered by this. I do know. I do . . ."