When I used to fall in love with rocks I admired their smooth and jagged cuts. The way they stuck up from their earthly ruts or how they rolled evenly inside of caky sand. Rocks were really my only love life plans.
Yet always still a rock. And always from the earth, the rock will form from violence into chalk. When I used to fervor rocks
I would notice with great care the way they curved and bent, allowing me to stare. Indeed, I feel deeply in despair for my romantic love affair with the always quiet rock who would always fill me with hours of endless empty talk.
And after some years of this chatter and also through witnessing the secret violence of a smooth and steady stone against soft and brittle human bones I agreed that I would no longer fall in love with any type of rock.
The conclusion is now that I no longer fall in love with any type of rock: a stone.