There was a story that begins and ends, sensational in its own right which might seem so wrong to the unending melange of meaningless. Strided undeterred, sometimes in the mind, like a tale in the books unwritten, they flew like pieces of me hither-thither.
And now i gather them sometimes from the beach in the midnight, sometimes from his wine glass, some i found on my corset, some were under the bed – they were those fumbled words, sometimes from the sweat on my brow, some when i hear the song by Whitney Houston – Heartbreak Hotel, sometimes in the reason for existence, in the broken rules and also when I write this.
Written on Friday, October 22, 2004
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