Saturday, November 7, 2009

Cripple Creek Ferry

The time wasted was insignificant when put against the unreckonable amount of energy wasted, and the misery it created. My sub conscience had even joined in the assault. My dreams were plagued with memory and fantasy of him. I would wake sure that it had happened; then find that it hadn't. A cruel joke had been played. Then I would wonder if he was aware of what transpired in my twilight sub conscience. Being plagued by a memory was like being plagued by a ghost that knew everything about you. It knew what it was to you and every thought you attached to it. The mind is a wicked, vile, tormentor when it's not getting what it wants. Now, every interaction was an offense to the ego, a blow to the heart, a stab to the soul.

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