no rain

There is little else I prefer than to be here with you, however much it may be the notion of some contractually obligated angel or bored karma dealing demon. As long as I can be at least 50%, I can sit here and smile at this incompleteness, possibly to shiver with the same degrees of revel as that of self-pity at a breath left on the glass.

I have considered my epilogue often in these days of surrender long before ink and paper ever dreamed to be reconciled, a convict and its lover. But the question begged as it often must, how much would be written in a cathartic lust, a last caress of my mind laying naked across anyone’s screen. Well, someone’s screen. Perhaps, I might even find out once and for all whether you truly ever cared or loved one another. Truly of course, being at least 50%.

It was only until this moment (huh?) that I realized the answer might never be enough – or less, to properly inspire my last words. So I have chosen to move forward despite this lack of unpretentious, self-less progress and stay for a while longer, if only to stumble again or lose another sandwich to a harried chemical endowment.