Wednesday, July 8, 2009


Clearly she is confused. Her poetry was once epic, without reason, and her motions flawless, for sake of purpose. The garden flourished at our backs as we discussed romantic notions and destiny. Her presence is centered, as it once was, though upon notions I was never able to understand. My thoughts were concerned for nothing but a ring, which she promptly returned. I lost something far greater than purpose that night...

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