The world appears to me as beautiful, ripe with possibilities, enchanted, an experience worth preserving, and I am terrified of death in this wave. The other eye views violence and impending doom, an apocalypse in waiting, and I am terrified to be alive. Why here, why now? Why the need to pick up the pen, to speak to you, wherever you are? I want to know you and love you, but perhaps you will never love me.
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Sunday, February 10, 2008
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