why is it that the less we know about a person, the more we are obsessed with them?
the less I know about you, the more able I am able to create, it's like you handed over the reins to my imagination, which runs freely in hypernatural sketches
conversely, nothing inspires me when I know you inside and out, and am with you always. our times hold none of my (poetic) interest
it's sad that no one can occupy both my worlds. i suppose idealizing one so human would be paradoxical, impossible, yet I can't help but wish you'd come along
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Thursday, August 13, 2009
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