I will spare the flowery sentiments.
Sitting on this rotting wood log
-alone-
I wonder to myself,
Why do people's hearts have to ache?
I'm staring out at the ocean
Inhaling the scent
Of the salty surf,
Feeling the August breeze
Brush the fronds of hair
Away from my forehead
-I wish it was someone's hand instead of this breeze-
Allthough, it is nice to be
Brushed by the wind
It doesn't cure
Being alone
-Or feeling alone-
...which is the way I feel.
E.A.Altamura, Copyright 1998
Reason for writing:
Manhattan Beach, alone, on a beautiful summer night is not the greatest thing when you have no one to share it with.
Birth sign: Not entered
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