Dear So Many Things,
When I read what I wrote you, I see air rushed out. It is as if, I watched the
train and took the breeze, out of town. I get the feeling, with certainty. Soon
you won't anymore, soon you will return the envelopes and I will be left only
your hands. I have accumulated evidence for this. It amounts to, what I saw was
my owned fault. The things we've left there for a while—I don't expect them,
going on what I've seen or where I've looked. Nod twice if you agree. Here's
to hoping we find an apparent glass to raise, recursive and diligent. Here's to
next time: We will be just a little lighter, a lot softer, and one fewer.
A Tale of Two Cities LITE(tm)
-- by Charles Dickens A lawyer who looks like a French Nobleman is executed in his place. The Metamorphosis LITE(tm)
-- by Franz Kafka A man turns into a bug and his family gets annoyed. Lord of the Rings LITE(tm)
-- by J. R. R. Tolkien Some guys take a long vacation to throw a ring into a volcano. Hamlet LITE(tm)
-- by Wm. Shakespeare A college student on vacation with family problems, a screwy girl-friend and a mother who won't act her age.
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