We dance again, and know that crying cannot make us live, and living can not make us die, but only this moment can affect our passage through the world; Why then, must we cling to the cobweb of whatever it was we were, and moan to ourselves our moanings, and muse to oourselves our musings, without some act of creation? Our twirls around one another, our drifting orbits, our gravity fades. What would I think, if I were watching from beyond a frosted window? "Why do these two lovers cry? Revel in each the other. Enjoy the time, the moment, before all is a wisp of memory, drifting into that spacious void of forgetfulness," my other self would seem to say. And instead, I watch your melencholy eyes, before you close the blinds. I will not mumble 'forever' in your ear ever again. You will give me this moment, and only this moment, for the rest of your life.
(c) 1995 john garnett drummond
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