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| Misplaced garden hose (short number one) |
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He knew that he would break absolutely if she pulled out his name again. Many times, often recklessly, she would forget that she was the sole reason for his self-doubt and loneliness. The world felt somehow less, but still he remained optimistic even because she had finally allowed him to walk away and get on with his life. She was a deep hurt and he had fallen out of reality somehow and he really just wanted to get back whatever the fuck it is that she decided to take away. He takes a drag of his cigarette. The sting pulls down his throat and fills each tiny air sack over and over. He thinks about her face – a bad move – but he gives into the envelopment that is nostalgia. The bright blue sky is trying to pull the day along and fill those whom walk below it with a false sense of hope and, perhaps, a possible bit of disjointed pride. It is summer in this vision, about the end of June, and the sun is unseasonably cooler. He pulls up into that doorway again, and, despite his best attempt, falls and over a misplaced garden hose. “Why did they leave that there.” He thinks to himself as walking toward the door, her door. He takes another drag of his cigarette and the salt from his lips somehow makes a path to his tongue. He can see her face, in the vision, just as the sting starts again and his brain hurts. The fucking terrific level of noise inside his mind pinned him down and made him feel like lead and he wanted to fly, to be free.
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Posted by copelinn on 2007-10-03 00:14:54 | Rating: | Views: 143
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