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Sounds and patterns
weave into a subjective vortex;
pulled from their context,
separated from probability and logistical concerns
and meshed snugly around a mind.
A cocoon of threads woven from fear and faith
augmenting the view.

05.09.2009.

15:34 C.E.T.

I text him : Thank you for your pencil! I misplaced all my hair-clips and if your green pencil hadn't come out, my hair would have been angry, depressed and unleashed in all its length...

15:40 C.E.T.

He replies : The lucky bastard! Ya' know, if you put on your reading - glasses, you'll get « The craving look ».


15:45 C.E.T.

I respond : Being quite a modest person, I settle for less and desire not to crave.


15:58 C.E.T.

He has to have the last word : And I crave not to long anything that can be easily yearned by another. This is adapted for me.

♦ Later that day... ♦


23:50 C.E.T.

I press the < send > button : Your new-found-and-invented hair accessory hasn't budged even a single μm! But now it has to move, independently of its will, because my hair is like a dog: from time to time, it has to be let to just wander around...


06.09.2009.

01:01 C.E.T.

He calls. We talk. About anything and nothing. And if I had had the guts, I would have confessed that I was feeling so alive just to hear him talking to me. Didn't care what. Or for how long. I enjoyed every millisecond of our wordless conversation...

I reject, again, his request for my pictures. I never send my p. photos to men. Never! Even if he conquered a big part of me, he does not have the right to do such requests.

We have a stupid, fourth grade argue about it, with me trying to explain that it's never OK to settle for less, when one can have the best...

But it's no use talking into sense a drunken man.

04:20 C.E.T.

I go to sleep, but before that, I confessed : No more detours and hiding behind my shadow; I choose to go straight on the paths of truth: I'm both terrified and galvanized of the moment our breaths will coalesce. I comprehend what you perceive only to dare dream.


04:40 C.E.T - discovered at 17:30 C.E.T., when I woke up.

His exact words : But do you comprehend my compulsion to breathe fire upon your beads of sweat from your serpentine back while tension is summing up in every follicle of hair?


No, I don't. I would have, a long time ago. Now I think I do, but I don't know anymore. I got lost, and either you help me find my way, or have faith that I'll be like the dog.

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