Broken Record


This picture is a representation of my personal life, as I write. It's in shambles. The cloudy skies above, the rain falling down all around me, and I am the kid, in my raincoat, still holding on to my three silver balloons. Please don't fly away.

I am dating once again. I've gone out with a few interesting women--two particularly exceptional women, including the priestess, but I am stuck. Trapped in the regrets, the what ifs of my previous relationship. I am staring at broken glass.

I set fire to the rain for good reason. But the heart is wild, unamenable. It still loves. It refuses to recognize any combination but hers. To follow any sound than that of her voice. To map any pattern than of her body. There is no mold. But then, she knew that already.

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