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The rain cast a dark spell of memory. The constricting pain of hunger. A memory lost and yet remembered. The fantasy of history felt. As the drizzle finds solace. In the cracks the years have formed. There have been other evenings. This familiar just out of reach. The cool ghost of memory.
Nocturnal Wanderer Dreamer Lover FRIEND. I blog stuff that fascinates me, humors me, inspires me and moves me. Outlet of my random thoughts and beliefs. Michael Faudet, Dirty Pretty Things. Work is not a job. By Pixel Union Powered by Tumblr.
Thursday, July 29, 2010. For the longest time since we had you, I have to admit this, I missed you. I miss your smile that brightens my days. I miss your shoulder that I used to cry on. You being the street smart and all! I miss going back to the old house looking for your vintage car I use.