an essay about true love
walden freeman
Posts: 511
i -- like everyone else -- am replaceable. a wished well full of foreign coins. collected stamps collecting dust on warped shelves in the corners of old bedrooms. memorial service cards with smiling pictures. a chess set rendered useless because of one missing knight. it's the smaller things that are overlooked. the temperature in the collected ovens of the kitchens adjacent to hell's cafeteria, where i'd imagine demons and devils chuckle at the thought of a man in suspenders with thick lensed glasses replacing an entire set as opposed to one piece. i too am guilty of being a perfectionist. expecting to be treated fairly in a world where typewriters are as appreciated as vinyl records and rotary telephones. a true revolution is getting rid of the physical revolutions, a sullen yet poignant social commentary on the added stresses of being an adult in a world with an increasingly short average attention span. as my friend pointed out, unintentionally, even the dead leaves are suffering health problems. no longer falling in october as they had for so long, they now meander about in april, as alzheimer patients notoriously would orbit a nursing home. the veins becoming vericose. the dirt becoming dryer and eventually interchangeable with ash. the dust becoming so useless that it itself has collected itself. tunnels no longer looking towards their own light at their own ends. hurricanes envisioning -- with their solitary eye -- the end of famous metropolitan areas. sports arenas suddenly allowing the gladiators to return. and life everlasting lasting for an extra day. so replace me with someone to replace me.
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Thank you. It is pretty critical of the universe, I must say.
Sure, it's critical, but it is profoundly true.