You were either high (and all of its variations) or you were low (and all of its variations). You had flown up a tree not unlike Peter Pan. “I’m flyiiiiinnnngggg.” Peter is a naughty boy. You have no idea. How naughty is Pan, anyway. The question is not worthy of an answer. But you felt compelled (no one knows why) to leap into the night for naughty boys, and we have to have a talk about this flying at night shit. You never knew how jealous I was. I wanted to fly with you. I wanted to fly like a vampire not Superman. Finally, your leaps into the frozen darkness took on a cohort of menacing shadows that could have been. I would yank you back, bitch. By your hair. The low end of the cycle would set in. Guilt and all the looking at walls. This was a chemical withdrawal. You caved in upon yourself.

Midflight.