Aug 30, 2005 23:29
December will burn it down, this theory of escape, release, revision. I will sleep in the snow garden, on top of angel winged graves, freeze and slip into the far side over the ice. Then the green thaw will come, like a time machine, and bring me back to you and this. December will shatter the dream, and leave little time for rest.
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it's been months since we've last spoken. I miss having someone I can have a real conversation with. This place is rife with petty, childlike drama from people who have yet to move beyond their high school mentalities. Save me.
Rick
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