Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

The night is clear, resolute, pure.
Sleep, a distant fantasy; reality melts without the day.
Heartbeats-cum-helicopter blades thrumming strong and sure,
Drowning all other thoughts with: "Carry me away."


Travel back - think of that week. Seven days held more happiness than you felt in the whole year that preceeded it put together. Would you trade the year for the week? Would you trade the next tears for ten more such weeks? Of course you would.

Times like this I get prone to spitting out quotes.

"Young fool. Only now, at the end, do you understand."

"I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find
Without a trust or flaming fields am i too dumb to refine?"


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