Saturday, November 28, 2009

The Pond

Her name was Girijha. When she was a child of five, the sunsets would be most dramatic. There were never other dramatic sunsets. The sky bled loudly. Time existed only as a way for her to express her personality. Hop scotch squares drawn with the colors blue, yellow and green. Sea shells as dice. With death, she did not die, only her personality.

This to that take it
in a splat.
Did I ever tell you about the pond?


His voice sounded different to his sister. Does it, are you sure, what is different about it. Was she hearing the minute latitude of change? In five years this may be how his voice ends up, how exciting if she hears it from the beginning. The very beginning. This will be a very difficult thing to keep track of, I hope you understand this before you start investing so much attention. And plus, it might all be a hoax.

What a way.

How is he related to Girijha? He is not like the moon is not round.

On the pond
Me you and mildew

In the pond
It seemed so clear, so blue

I don’t want to be there for you anymore.

On the forth day it started to disappear.

We all wanted to be strong.


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