12:30 and the day drags on, lacking that certain joy de vivre I was imbued with yesterday.
In each life, they say some rain must fall—there was however no mention made of cyclonic rainstorms that leave behind torpid silence after a few short lived moments of coruscating conversations.
Is there a point to fishing on dry sea bed, when the only catch I could rely on are stagnating skeletal remains of flaccid memories that once were flush with life?
Perhaps salt the withered cadavers and hang them unceremoniously in a memory museum; or with a temerity unchallenged stride boldly to pristine waters and lay gossamer nets of renewed zeal.
In hopes to ensnare a whale, trip upon a bear with a dying trout in his mouth, haul him from his existence in talons fashioned out of agonizing needs and lovesick desperation.
Ah, today is going to crunch under my feet like a sun bleached vagrant leaf.
Hearts
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