“I ripped these out of your symbol and they turned into paper.”
The words that once read new breath into me now fall just short. They
sink and sag across the pages, lost and wandering without a spine to keep them upright.
Does the value of that symbol become so diminished then? Why, yes.
Yes, it does.
The papers that flutter presently across my floorboards belong nowhere now. The pages might as well be empty.
Without “before”s and “after”s to them, every startling sentence and promising phrase holds nary a glance of the eye.
Listless, meaningless, and inconclusive.
Such a pity.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
“I ripped these out of your symbol and they turned into paper.”
The words that once read new breath into me now fall just short. They
sink and sag across the pages, lost and wandering without a spine to keep them upright.
Does the value of that symbol become so diminished then? Why, yes.
Yes, it does.
The papers that flutter presently across my floorboards belong nowhere now. The pages might as well be empty.
Without “before”s and “after”s to them, every startling sentence and promising phrase holds nary a glance of the eye.
Listless, meaningless, and inconclusive.
Such a pity.
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