Dreaming of a bejewelled tomorrow I lose the essence of today. Like a rabid dog my tongue lolls over bloated lips, I breathe raggedly, desperately. I crave to control every move, every second. I get frustated so easily by the seconds that slip like melted butter between my fingers, messily smeared on my hands forming their own unique patterns. I try again and again but...

The butter swirls in brilliant yellow flashes...out of control...rebelling yet following every rule in the book. The empty wrapper lies strewn next to the dustbin. The butterpaper lies in a crushed ball at my feet and I continue my little game. I use my pinky and lazily draw golden patterns. Unknowingly I draw a golden question mark and as the butter melts further, it drips on the floor and disappears with time. I pop my finger in my mouth and a golden smile appears...the golden smile of innocence.