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I didn't expect it then, there, but not, no, not then. Small, and many times, unaccustomed to my home a yet; Positively I peered forward, waiting on lights until a clutter of voice and hello, alerted me, to a presence. And it was her presence. I knew, recognized, and clanged that empty cold bell into a singing steeple. Hit from the side, I puttered to my feet and struggled into hellos and the long-awaited, paltry, embrace. mywordsrolledout anddownthefrontofmyshirt ontotheground for others to walk unwittingly across She, usurping pauses, whispered speech out in a harbored dammed-up way, but like sounds of birds bathing in streams. Our modesty admired and shown its countenance onto our not-so-betraying pleasantries. She sat. I sat. small. and many times unaccustomed to here. I peered positively forward awaiting lights to rest easy and with grace on the presence - to whom - the blades of grass beneath bowed. Sinking into me, a spring, pure, of two souls whom, are admired because they pretend not to know; they curtain themselves from each other just because of what they aren't ready to show.
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Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
the night the lights lit the sky and we curtained affections.
I didn't expect it then, there, but not, no, not then. Small, and many times, unaccustomed to my home a yet; Positively I peered forward, waiting on lights until a clutter of voice and hello, alerted me, to a presence. And it was her presence. I knew, recognized, and clanged that empty cold bell into a singing steeple. Hit from the side, I puttered to my feet and struggled into hellos and the long-awaited, paltry, embrace. mywordsrolledout anddownthefrontofmyshirt ontotheground for others to walk unwittingly across She, usurping pauses, whispered speech out in a harbored dammed-up way, but like sounds of birds bathing in streams. Our modesty admired and shown its countenance onto our not-so-betraying pleasantries. She sat. I sat. small. and many times unaccustomed to here. I peered positively forward awaiting lights to rest easy and with grace on the presence - to whom - the blades of grass beneath bowed. Sinking into me, a spring, pure, of two souls whom, are admired because they pretend not to know; they curtain themselves from each other just because of what they aren't ready to show.
nathanael-d-mellum
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Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
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