All lost in detail. All Gained in scope.
Experience without detail is art without form.
There is more than simple impressionism here. The sensations, the smiles, the eyes, are all unique.

Details. Those found in those rare Vague Moments. Those single points in time where perfection has been suddenly, unexpectedly achieved. A hand held. A shooting star. A crashing wave. A glowing moon. A kiss. The moment becomes its own universe, a place never wished against, a place wandering thoughts always revisit.

Failing to read the eyes, perhaps If I could read minds, then I would see the signs. But blinded by intoxicating vision I walk down paths of familiar unfamiliarity. I see what I want to feel. I feel happy, I feel frozen.

Standing on this path I look around, wandering, wondering, "where should I walk". I look at a sign. Straining, reading it through its back, mentally mirroring it as I go, I realize the time.

It is too late.

I lost.

... and now I hurt.