Aroma de café.

There is no pain you are receding. A distant ship, smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves, your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying. When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now The child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb.