Saturday, September 29, 2007
shield my eyes from sorrow
Eyes which are, for better or worse, discerning and open, and such devastating images are burned onto the back of my eyeballs, intricately etched on skin, on the flimsy layer that covers the back of my hand. As with music, which is created by the movement between the notes of a score, I read between the cloying lines of amicable gaiety, and transcribe the silent subtle nuances that linger in the air - that which has suddenly turned rancid. Such suffocating and deplorable weight. The night no longer speeds past in vehicles of bright conversations and brilliant laughter, it is the heavy tread of seconds which still pass by all too fast. Just a single gesture, one enacted without words, can cheapen everything that I had held sacred, because I will always remember, and I will never forget. And if I may indulge myself to cast blame and deconstruct former truths - just whose fault, do you think, that is? I was wrong.
she procrastinated @ 04:10 |
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