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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Monday, Jul. 26, 2004 @ 12:23 pm
This morning they slumber there, the Lions, sleepy in the humid nebulous morning. For years they've watched me and I've watched them, their snowy manes moulting to sleek black basalt.
I know them now, I know how their rocky skin feels warm. I know what they see, from the islands of Howe Sound to the smoggy spread of the city and suburbs. Three hundred and sixty degrees of freedom.
He told me I was cold and closed and confusing. He told me that I don't have the ability to care. Does he not know me at all or does he know me too well?
Has my carefully crafted armour of independence caused me to lose my need for a man? (It's you not me. It's me not you.)