If I were here, before I got here, then I swear I arrived on accident. I think I'll leave before you get me to believe that this is all just a concraxodent.
No, but seriously, point me in a direction that leads far and away from this place.
Breathe for a second. Think of where you are in life. Is it where you want to be? If not, you ALWAYS have the ability to change that. No matter what it takes, you will find where you belong. If you are already in the place you want to be, keep fighting for that place. Don't think just because you made it, that you get to give up. No. You must fight for what you love, and work for what you want. Nothing good or great comes easy, but it's all worth it.
When over the rail bridge on the sky autumn blue clouds floated in cotton pieces
I longed for home.
The port light tower and the masts of anchored ships made me keen to reach home like a sailor long on the sea disembarking with dreamy eyes thinking if at all is one home a tender lip awaiting his sunburned cheek or if he would retrace to the waves and someone waiting was only in his head.
I was at Remount Road an old station with home not really that far and disproportionately small to my yearning.
I was making a brisk walk and when at the door fell into a reverie of rail bridge anchored ships on the port white on the autumn blue and the small station Remount Road.
He solved hard problems for us taught sincerely in the class but the moment he held the pen sweats would flood his palm like a nagging rain that his army of handkerchief couldn’t bring any relief with the dripping moisture like a school of sharks devoured our paper’s ink marks and from the workouts already done steps were wiped out one by one.
At those times he wouldn’t speak only looked at us apologetic burdened as if with guilt’s weight for the treachery of his ceaseless sweat that forced him to desist from anymore writing close his pen and start dictating.
Then one day we saw him bring out a cream his agony had reached such an extreme with that he rubbed his palms with glee looked he had solved a great mystery said now this would lock all the doors stop sweat’s pour through skin’s pores.
There's intense romance in walking in the rain under an umbrella.
It's akin to being with your girlfriend in the rain.
My umbrella like my girlfriend is old
she has enough leaking holes to lick my hair and face rolling like a rivulet reaching up to the groin where it creates a puddle of desire when I grab her harder and push thru the fluid thirsting and thrusting like I do with my girlfriend.
But you know the best part comes when my umbrella asks me to throw her away and reach the ****** as the sky cracks to pour a blinding rain.