They sat in their yukata across from their friend. In transience, they had torn the green goblin with a club to ribbons with blood spatter in their bodice armor. I and they sat beneath an elm tree with milk-tea and lemonade scones. I dipped my lemonade scones into my milk tea and let the scone soak in the milk-tea before eating the scone. The autumn leaves fell quietly onto the blanket that colorful afternoon spent beneath the elm tree.

They do that much. They always do. While I sit and trace the sappy scar on the tree.

In transience, they do advance on the yellow cloud. The biscuit does crumble in my mouth while I sip steamed tea. I do sit on my blanket with an empty plate of crumbs.

In the transience, I advance in my peace of the friendship.

I wait for them in the pathos. I am.

In the transience, I love the bond between us.

I advance my claymore, they retreat into the dark red blood of their own pathos.

Modern day.

In salty sand, I am on my thickly woven quilt.

In transience, I advance toward the anger.

In transience, they and I advance against the their retreat.

In sadness, I retreat into them in thought.

I am on my knees. The earl grey tea is a dark brown. The navy blue sea is fresh. The sky is baby blue with cotton clouds.

In transience, I advance my claymore. In the ephemera, they die.

I felt boredom.

I am sorrowful.

She is in love with the charcoal flooring.

I felt dislike for the smoky black, charcoal flooring.

I felt anger toward her.

I felt despisement for her.

I am in love with the impermanence of the etched skin brown-edged logwood guesthouse.

I wait for the sun to rise but it is already noon.