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Thursday, 8 January 2015

Her eyes ...

There was something so disastrous about her eyes.
Like brown depths to the core of something so beautifully cracked and open.
Like volcanos that went dormant in some ancient time and never found the courage to erupt again.
Like beaches, long lonely salient beaches that outwardly hold nothing but are lands to which I wander off often.
Like a fire of pure eternal flame that has burned so much to provide so much and still somehow is flickering through it all.
Like a whole different universe of hope and love and possibilities.
Like slow poisonous pills of ecstasy that give you that tripping feeling every time you look into them.
Like books, old books, that hold worlds in pages now tattered and crumbled, worlds and far beyond wonderful things.
Like first cries of babies and last breaths of the freed.
Like an approaching tornado.
So much beauty, it is disastrous. 

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