So I am back to this post again. Its changed, however. While there is still some of the wistfulness that went along with the original post, there is a crumbling happening. Paper-like pieces falling, bit, by bit, until one day, you sit down to see the both of you, tattered remains of what you once were- of what you once thought you were- and of what you keep trying to be. The merry-go-round I've mention several times before has stopped, basically. It still turns a bit now and then, but mostly, we're sitting on it looking at each other, holding on, even though there is no need. "I dream gently of time. This is what my heart wants, my heart that is sad without love." A gentle sadness, that will eventually float away with the paper-like pieces, into the wind, and into time.
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