

1.Jul.08It was in everything that I heard you the first time stepping into what looked like the deepest cave, where you stood and cried, hoping that the echoes would become blankets to comfort you. As the sound travelled back, the blankets found me, and I carried their shining covers to you, bringing only my motives to make you warm. It was in the stars behind those tears that I found you, and I shined the1.Jul.08
ones in my eyes, too. Only the blankets were sheets, and we tangoed beneath them, searching for ourselves all the while. And when it came to pass


stained orangeStray cat feet are cautious, like the rains that wont come. No matter the amount of trees, the size of the fields that hold the lush green hair of the earth, all is desert when discontent lays rest. Recipes of person-to-person exchanges rise slowlystained orange
when kneaded with cracked hands, so dry from trying so hard to work the misgiving hands of the fragile smiling faces.
Desert, when the faces of many turn when eyes meet. Desert, when the hi and how-are-yous arent really questions, but run-on sentences to heres-your-change and have-an-nice-day. Desert, when the world screams f


5th April 08What are we to do when5th April 08
old faces speak as if no time has passed; when dusts are shaken off with no regard for the dust, but the old feelings there still gleam; light from places where no light has ever been blinds; to remember that which has never staggeringly happened; we remember, remember, remember; we sleep too much because we are in love with dreams more than reality, and our shifting fabric is pulled clumsily as the magicians trick botched; dispensing advice sounds like a reminder to the self; outside forces suddenly silent force peace; wandering used to keep me so in touch with myself; music fades away into nothing
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FIH: 365
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FIH: 365
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FIH: 365
-Mitch
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"Snowflakes are winter's butterflies."
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