I'm done. I'll run down. From here to there. And then from there to here. Don't grow your hair. If you're going. To an island life. A tropical getaway. An escape for the both of you. Away from all the places where we've seeded. Back to each other. Down to this little condo. At the base of the long-winding stairs. Why don't you call someone else? Who loves you more than anything? In the world, why shouldn't she call? Someone else when you don't. Can't reach across the phone. Or change the channel. To itself, can't seem to unfurl its wings of some other fragrant lyfe.