Saturday, April 17, 2010

People like you don't exist: you are a phantom in my mind. You cannot be the same face that greets others; for should any human learn of the ways you unravel, they would recoil in terror. I would not call you sick. But closed. Impenetrable. Only I can see you standing, so far away from every heart. You whisper your only song into the night, and the water shudders to the melody. Whatever the beauty of the moment, though, to what end if no one else should see it? Life might be a mystery, but no mystery, mind, ever allows such abnegation of the self. Better the whole thing never happen at all should this be your path, spirit.

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