Friday, May 11, 2007

Even if all rectangles actually were squares, there's no guarentee that any of them would be the same size. And you couldn't coax them to become the same size, either, not even if you tipped your fingers in harmonicas and gestured them a little song. Squares, I feel, are stubborn.

Sometimes stolen hours are best, hours when the should be places and the actually are places are completely different, and no one knows. Even if the chance never comes up again, the time we took has already been spent, and is now recirculating in all directions like a sack full of nickles fished out from the prettiest fountain in town.

I knew that I was going to take them when you looked at me like a new species of girl that you couldn't even begin to categorize.

So squares are untrustworthy, and I'll be continuing to look for the points of overlapping orbits. I've got a spare baseball glove and a foosball table on hand, just in case.

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