A battered and still-beating metaphorical heart rattles in my fingers.
My amateur transplant is a ghastly and foolish idea.
Undeterred, I lay the heart to paper, one delicate pen-stroke at a time. I am a hardened convict working feverishly in his cell. Every action accompanied by an over-the-shoulder glance.
I am a wizened and meticulous scribe. I copy every promise, precept and profundity from old, closed chapters onto a fresh and unstamped mind.
My hands shake, and I am terrified of failure.
9:19 p.m. - 2015-06-10
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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