BOWS, IF ONLY THERE WERE MORE BOWS

Dear 2.10,
I stop. I don't move. Like removing batteries from clocks. Surprise peaceful moments of objectivity. Bows. They sneak up. Not fancy ones, but the cheap multi-color kind out of a plastic bag. Resentless, unemotional, matter-of-fact moments. Things are so obvious when impersonal! Parallel individuals - are losers - and we recognize this. You are quite simply - a loser. Your choices and behaviors define you as a loser regardless of shared proof otherwise. Proof, meaning fact at that time. That moment. Unfortunately all of life is an equation with an equal sign really; it's the sum total at the end of the day that reconciles absolute quality.

Random sneaky moments, bows; recognition possible only after adjusting to the dark. I'd grant complete absolution if you could arrange my life in a bow. The irrational product of my heartache demands you prescribe the secret of your elimination from my head and my heart, and I would gladly forgive backwards forever. It's you that's in there it stands to reason that you would know how to get you out.