Plague the mind. And you willingly, softly succumb.
Are fleeting. So you chase. You spin. You laugh and you grasp.
Come innocent. And you float, you drift with the warm, ebbing currents.
Moments like these are meant to be bathed in.
Moments like these -- a sweet, subtle drowning.
Moments like these are a sickness to which you want no cure.
Moments. Just like this.
Monday, April 12, 2010
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