Somethings happening here.

The scenes not exactly clear.

The house is quiet, the soft sound of Sam lapping at his water dish and the gas burner, burning blue, heating my tea are the only sounds. The night is dark and still, beyond the glass panes of the windows, but it somehow doesn't stop my thoughts from wondering out into the night.

I feel cliched and tiresome, all the same words, simply rearranged.

Who am I to wonder at the mystery's of love? Who am I to note on the remains of the day.

I want to say things, write things, wonder things that I should not, so instead I shall write about the bowl full of peanuts sitting on the counter. They are brown beige, and tan.. wow I never realized how many colors they possessed.. wow. I am remarking on the color of peanuts, waiting for my life to change.
Oh boy.


There is a women. There is a man. They hold in their hearts the grievings of love, but in the ashes they know so well is the richest mulch to grow new love. Strong. Love.

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