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How do you argue with perfection?
Why do you still dispute information gifted to you while you were struggling to resolve an issue that you unknowingly overlooked?
How can you accept that their capacity of knowledge surpasses the totality of all those that know them combined?
How do you generate a response: tactfully, respectfully, cautiously, diplomatically, emphatically and politely?
Unable to contest the information provided to you in such a professional and personable yet profoundly condescending manner I ask again, how do you argue with perfection?
When given the chance to reply, a wise man will solemnly retort in a defeated tone simply, humbly, gratefully and lovingly "Yes Dear!".
A brief moment in life caught forever
Shaped by the past and influencing the future
An image so striking and so bleak
It's says nothing but speaks volumes
It brings out emotions from deep within you
Provoking, judgemental, intimidating, humiliating
Persuading, praising, encouraging, hoping
You stare deeper and more profound
Nothing has changed but nothing has stayed the same
Familiarity overcome by ignorance
Pride outshined by modesty
The photograph an effigy of yourself in a reflection forever captured but soon forgotten.
How a picture you've seen a thousand times and each time you see it you see something different.
Now
I was once your world
Now just an afterthought
We planned our future
Now you've forgotten our past
We dreamed together
Now a nightmare apart
I loved you then
I still love you now
Please understand?
There is so much more!
I want to live!
For?
If you're able to?
Help!
Me?
Because I can't!
Go on!
By myself?
How one long sentence can become so many short sentences if you add the punctuation.  Please reread  without the periods, question marks and exclamation points!
The rain falling
Tears shameful in heavens eyes
Silent the lightning
Thunder heaving a bellowed sigh
Thoughts unbeknownst
No others needed to be warned
Tempest definition;
A violent and windy storm
Before I started writing I kept all my emotions, feelings and pain to myself. Not wanting to bother others. Basically how I felt during those times
The colors in my dreams are true to life
So much so that I'd rather not dream
Reflection

I hate when I look into your eyes
I hate that you're my friend?
I hate that you talk **** behind my back
I hate the way you look at me
I hate when you say you love me
I hate what I see when I look into the mirror
What I think wherever I pass a mirror
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