Entry: Left over right Monday, March 25, 2013

On the 2nd night of spring, words are woven on mental pain. Over milk
and coffee, and a flightless F-18 jet fighter plane.

We'll still end up in a stalemate, should we or not seal our fate. That
the night will end at three, to be or not to be?

Did you know I woke up with rainbows, for how long it lasted, who
knows? And each time I'd close my eyes, my mind wanders and sighs.

Did you know how it is to me, when you were this close and set me
free? Romance is dead, but something is anew. I don't want to define
it, but I think of you.

It still is a good thing. For a time, I'm at loss on what to say. I am at a
crash-landing and I hold my heart day to day.

On the 3rd morning of spring, breaths are woven by the insane. After
milk and coffee, and a flying F-18 jet fighter plane.


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