Of what specie of angel are you & how long since your decent? Such thoughts of you I struggle with, they dance inside my head. We share with all this common ground, the place our eyes first met… how I long to speak… though before you I’m weak, so I remain here in discontent. For I am taken by your symmetry, these spells they are not bound. The rest
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Your livejournal profile gives me no clues as to what your email is. It gives me some sort of livejournal email. The internet is a labyrinth with so many fucking dead ends
Smoke signal me, send me your email
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What is new with you, my Friend?
Why must our words reside in our past?
Are we no longer inspired?
Where has the beauty in misery gone?
We should no longer carry the weight of the world, nor should we expect that of ourselves.
...but should we be so apathetic? "Comfortably Numb"
Can we create without creating scars?
Comfort=Death?
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