Monday, November 14, 2011

What to believe, what ideas to discard? Too much meat to create one big fat lie and difficult to give up on your own fiction.
A few songs, a few movies, a few adored names, a few hastily read lines, and you were created.
Presently, you refuse to leave, presently wisps of your character collides violently with my well-loved, well-comforted, well-nourished soul.
Poor you, unaware, in your own little world.

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