Monday, June 8, 2009


Thus, it stops—the need to verbalize everything, as I find consolation in words not spoken. Here, ideas are abandoned somewhere between the definite and the perhaps, while promises of a smile die before reaching my lips.


And miracles in their fragile containers shatter as they reach my corner of earth. I’m wondering if prayers divorced from faith can find their way home.


Whereas, the little disappointments accumulate and start to decompose behind my eyes, I am sincerely questioning my right to be tired.

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