Saturday, March 21, 2015


You know how ephemeral things are often perceived as beautiful?

Well, what about fervor that has been cursorily rekindled and then crushed?

And that fleeting sense of familiarity that warms your molded glass heart.

Hope is a transient thing.

For some messed up reason, it presents itself overwhelmingly at the most comfortable moments.

But comfort is treacherous.

You wish you can ensconce yourself in the arms of that perilous, duplicitous quality forever.

Hope is a grisly thing.

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