I write weird things when I should be sleeping, and particularly when I haven't written in a long time. The lyrics belong to Jenny Lewis, from "Black Sand" off of Acid Tongue, and the characters belong to Squeenix.

There really is no excuse for this.


I fell in love with a beautiful boy on the black sand.

He was walking – had been walking forever, for as long as he could remember – walking into the light. Walking, and looking, looking for him, even though he couldn't remember, even, who he was himself, much less the other – looking, and walking, and forever in towards the light, even when it seemed as if the light were the last place where he, where either of them, could be found. But he knew, still, that if only he could walk far enough into the light, he would find him, and would find himself as well – because, who knows? if you walk far enough, you might walk through the light and reach the end, and no one knows what lives there.

He took me away; I was never the same on the black sand.

It may even be darkness again, itself.

He said, "Who's going to love you, buried underground?"

He kept walking. It was better than falling, anyway.

Oh, on the black sand.