Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The news makes his heart sing out of tune, a chanty, a funeral dirge. The chip on his shoulder is just a testament to his tuneless chords, dusty heartstrings about to snap, a weight that he will always carry.

A darkness that will always pervade.

And hope.

Because it is all I can do to keep the weight from crushing the air out of my lungs, and this uneven thread that continues to choke.

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