The tempest of my thoughts, contained in a simple page.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Dear Unfortunately Smudged,

Why do you keep coming back?

Despite my best efforts, you are fighting my current of logical consciousness and reappearing in a series of phantasmagorical scenes characterized by slow motion and wide eyes. My dream the other night was undoubtably what started it all. If you hadn't appeared there and done what you did without sufficient cause, I might have managed to put you out of my mind until the nervously approaching day.

But now I find that the heart-bumping nudge has come back in that five minute span when I know I'll have to throw away my milk carton in a certain trash can, or when I'm pretending to wait for Ryan Gosling to descend the staircase when in reality I know that my more intent focus is on the circle to my left.

It's maddening, being in the position I am. It allows for just enough realistic possibility in those dreamlike scenes to be slightly heartbreaking.

But what am I going to do, pick a new talent?

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