Everything is prone to going badly wrong these days. It inexorably does, wherever the ambiguity lies, caught in the hail of references. Mingled senses of fury and fear invade, engulf me, suck in their midst, peel off meticulously constucted defences. I just stand in here, in their neck of the woods, sick at heart and extremelly sorry to hear everyone else's steps approaching - they arrived here too, all too soon. Craving to know more, they died a death. A song implacably alters its meaning in accordance with what's just happened. Though blindfolded and deranged, I still can see all the yesterdays clearly. Shameful, full of unnecessary frenzy, disdainful scratching of the surface. Index fingers dance and prance in abraction from hopeless autumnish Piano music in the background. Thoughts about elusive meaningfulness are wandering nomads. Alas, I am adamant about not accepting preposterous challenges - one can gladly accuse me now of lying low in the face of some vicissitudes of fate, implying that I've surrendered all too easily.
For you are, as things turned out, the lynchpin of me being in love. My prose of an unequivocal commitement. My righteous pride and joy, chuckling benignly in the midst of the multitude. My quaking faith, teetering on the brink of desolation.