Saturday, July 10, 2010

Dust will we be made on this summer day

How do you fight a fear you didn't know you had? I can't kill a phantom, I can't fix something that happened years ago and stayed with me. I can't fight years of training myself to be delicate and afraid.

Instead I thought it over, beating his rose against the ground, punctuating every thought. I can't come to any conclusions. It's killing me, so I beheaded his present mercifully, and left it on the nightstand.

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