The block resonates with what happened before or

a flower, flourishing and flush with what won't

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I mean really, what was the outcome supposed to be? 
Sent via my smart phony little excuse for angst, piled upon pilings the flinging thing that we cannot speak

Of less than we were five fears ago.

Playing on the wind.
Composed on the lung, a cough aghast, a fear to commit.

Come again? 

With what shall we askance the Light

a way: say now, remember: how it's all prison prion pry on, son—the Ayes are getting sore up in here and I don't think

That the silence is a means to escape just know we Have a pager, a means to the forgery. Forget 

what it was now, know 

That all flaws are intentional, all intentions a lapse in our attentive laps.

Slap my ass and sell me a book of lore.

Or were you expecting something more?
Or is this the right way to encap so late and soon anon—
And all my doubt is a staircase for you more or less, guess I'll see you.

Today she was riding her bicycle to work, breathing in the ripe spring air, the sun flashing behind tall buildings.

She was putting her jacket in her locker, hanging her helmet on the hook.

She was reading emails, writing emails, deleting emails.

She was walking to the café with her co-workers, carrying her red silicone cup, laughing.

She was taking phone calls, making phone calls.

She was taking a photo of her boss staring out the window, trying to think of a good caption.

She was sitting in the courtyard, shaded by a small tree in new bloom, eating falafel and a sliced apple.

She was straightening the things on her desk.

She was twisting a small bunch of hair between her fingers as she held the cursor over 'Send'.

She was reading a blog post written by someone funny, about a movie she hadn't seen yet.

She was setting out next week's appointments and meetings in the diary.

She was stepping out into the cool air, looking up to find an evening star.

She was choosing a bunch of bananas from the display, tapping her thumb on the handle of her basket.

She was brushing her shoes on the doormat, trying to fit the key into the lock with too little light.

She was on the phone with a friend across the world, listening, smiling.

I was sitting on the bus, thinking about her.

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