I exhale a cloud of dust seven shades too dark. I stretch out the stiffness of loyalty and shake off flakes of shale. I spend a long time looking at my feet. Trying to find an image of justification in the folds of open space between.
My partner will not return. Holding to traditions of Golconda means nothing with no echo to reflect it.
I have reached a measure of perfection one inch deep. Preservation is stagnation. There is more to learn- and teach- beyond the self-imposed boundaries of guilt and unreciprocated exaltation.
11:54 a.m. - 2014-08-26
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