Clouds, streaming past flashes of sun. Whispery and whispy. So light they could just fall from the sky and wrap around your shoulders. My bed used to feel like that, high on a mezzanine, a sky-light throwing sun at me, paper-white sheets. My lover's cowboy boots one-two, beside the bed. His body, just so, positioned. Skinny and white, concave chest, dark, smart-looking beard, eyes that could look right through you. He tried to break up with me on a Thursday night. I felt stone-cold. Mad and sad and desperate. But I didn't flinch, because I could never give him control. "What do you think?" He asked me, dubiously. "I think I like this song." His neck and shoulders relaxed, he let go of my hands and lit a cigarette, "It's one of my favourites." "Oh, what's it called?" I asked, trying to drag out the part before I had to walk home, alone. In flash he said, "lets stay together." My jaw dropped, "...really?" "Yes. Have you heard of it?" At the same moment we realized that we were talking about different things. His song name was my second chance. Laughing I tried to convince him that it was a sign. And after a bit of compromise, I got my way.